Out of my own great woe I make my little songs.

Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten, Dass ich so traurig bin; Ein Marchen aus alten Zeiten, Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.

Du bist wie eine Blume, So hold und schon und rein; Ich schau dich an, und Wehmut Schleicht mir ins Herz hinein.

At first I was almost about to despair, I thought I never could bear it - but I did I bear it. The question remains: how?

And so I'd dream a bass will join me, and fill the bottom in. And maybe now some lead guitar so it would not sound so thin. I need some drums to set the beat a…

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

A boy's hunched body loved out of a stalk The first song of his happiness, and the song woke His heart to the darkness and into the sadness of joy.