Out of the day that covers me,
Bright as the Sun from pole to pole,
I curse whatever gods may be
For my undiscernable soul.

In the foul clutch of inevitability
I have not convinced my existence void.
Under the sufferings of destiny
My death is nigh, inevitable.

Confined in this place of joys and tears
Looms but the Horror of the fate,
And yet the transience of the years
Renders me unaffected; i have no hate.