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.

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