O' people this is a cloud
Who is talking to the proud.

When I'm gloomy and dark
Flash of lightning ready to strike.

Now it's time for me to cry;
Cry, cry, cry till go dry.

I'm raining for those are not worth
With my tears they water from south to north

Of their insight full of lords,
Pride and jealousy are two cords

Not to let them release themselves
From dark prisons and dreadful cells;

So, I made up my mind not to cry
No more grow the cords; let them die.