So contradictory my soul,
Singing of Love,
Singing of Hate,
With the spirit's tongue.
How can this be?
This spring gushes water
And brings forth fire.
Bent and broken tree,
Seems taller than the mount.
How can one see the wax,
Yet boast the clay?
How can one show off insincerity?
So now confused the rest of I,
Be I proud or meek,
Be I love or hate,
and be I dark or light?