The cure for restlessness I do not see.

What to do when there's nowhere to flee?

Tired, worn. Why did life get to run?

Where is the vitality of my youth? Where the humor? Where the sun?

I can fall apart, torn limb from limb by a melancholy I cannot face

By a sadness of spirit that struck with unceasing pace

I can wake to find my fire lost, my soul struck dead,

And find I have no desire to rise from my bed.

Perhaps there's a happiness shining in some far valley of rain shrouded hills

But for now I must content myself to know there exists an end to my ills.