Why was I born? 
I am full of questions. 
Why was I made? 
My soul is blighted; 
I forgot to lotion my skin and bones.

Was I made to dwell in silence and torment? 
Was I made to bear anxiety like fat bracelets on my neck? 
I am alone in my thoughts, like an owl. 
What did I achieve in this life?

What was I made for? 
He gave up on fasting. 
Why do I keep on seeking the purpose of living in the cloud, 
When I have so much suffering in my soul, 
When melancholy overwhelms me?

I am a ghost in the film. 
I am just a prisoner of a poetic curse, 
Sentenced to the night. 
I curse the stars in the sky; 
I curse the heavens above 
For not sending a dove of destiny. 
What was I made for? 
I will never know
The eternal rotation of sorrow.