Our spirit is broken and jaded,
The hopes of our youth are all dead.
We feel life is hopeless and dreary,
Now night has o'ershadowed our day;
Bright fruits of this earth only weary,
They ripen—to fall and decay!
I'm sick of the world and its trouble,
For rest and seclusion I thirst;
I'm tired of the gay tinted bubble,
That brighteneth only to burst!