What is it, Oh what is it that plagues my mind
Which rests its design in black melancholy
And perpetual lament
Producing desperate and unreasonable frustrations
And condemnations of grotesque obligations
Investing a relentless barbarism of lamentation
In that moment of the infinite pulse of inaccuracies
That raises from the grave of oblivion illicit ambitions
And by their presence embalms me with an ambiguous curse
That compels no rivalry or universal justification
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 7:16 PM UTC
What is it, Oh what is it that plagues my mind
Which rests its design in black melancholy
And perpetual lament
Producing desperate and unreasonable frustrations
And condemnations of grotesque obligations
Investing a relentless barbarism of lamentation
In that moment of the infinite pulse of inaccuracies
That raises from the grave of oblivion illicit ambitions
And by their presence embalms me with an ambiguous curse
That compels no rivalry or universal justification
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