In the morning I awake,
With sweat, sorrow and with dread
For I know there is no break
In the days that come ahead.
Oh, woe! The days are so grim,
So sad, hopeless, and so bleak,
Filled with bitterness and sin
Of man’s penance on the weak.
They care not for their shrill screams
See not that they are the same,
But to them, those weaklings seem
To be monsters without name.
So thus the world must tremble:
Man’s judgment is not gentle.