Dying Soul

Now every tick tick of the clock is a malefic sound for me 

And unsalable is the pulchritude of nature for my soul

Was she that beautiful phosphene who deceived me 

Disappearing in a jiffy after rubbing those bawling eyes

Her forgery words and sham vows were effective on me 

Now in the strikhedonia clear it is, she cheated and cheated me

On the greensward I begin to think about that nymph 

To write a beautiful prothalamium for her wedding

I trying to lave her wounds by listening a sad soft lay

Thinking about that false story I then cry in afar lea

No!! I am not a nescient nor any physchiatric bard

But was orgulous of having her, trying to make her jovial 

Now there is a clear and marge between us 

Yet I wish to sell myself for that nocuous person......