Tonight, my angst must writhe and twist
as serpents 'neath my skin,
for though a calmness reigns without,
despair drowns all within.

Rent asunder silken drapes
that coat my bedroom walls;
by blood, not love, bespattered,
and besmirched by anxious thoughts.

Torch my house upon the hill,
for though it gives me solitude,
the vistas from its windows
lead a weakened mind to brood.

Open up the stables,
let my ebon steeds run free;
leave my carriage unattended,
as a shrine to misery.

To thee, my loyal servant, friend,
I leave my coffers' weight,
and pray to those beneath the ground
that soon thy grief abates.

Take away the wine and food,
for naught they do, but make me retch.
And from the world, release me soon,
that I may slip 'neath clement death.