Hurt
’twas times greatest deceit
and, thus fallen, lays love.
Was slain, in defeat
though seemed fated from above.
In pleasure the pursuit,
pleasure gained for years.
Then left destitute,
with pains wicked tears.
My soul pushed to break,
my heart bears such hurt.
This distress will not slake,
till a rest, deep in dirt.
My sleep torments me,
with dreams of nevermore.
My joy I ne’er more see,
only anguish is in store.
By times greatest lie,
my spirit was laid low.
But hope does still try,
I plead this not be so.
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