For this, I shall complain
I shall write in blood
Each passing thought
That whispers at my mind,
For it is only in this exalt
My beacons of hope shall arise
And light my way
Away from these depths
I have so tread too long.
For this, I shall complain
I shall write in blood
Each passing thought
That whispers at my mind,
For it is only in this exalt
My beacons of hope shall arise
And light my way
Away from these depths
I have so tread too long.