XXV: Sword

Why is that music stuck inside my head?

It’s got no place to make me so upset.

Those sounds and words she wanted sung and read

are now the sounds and words that I regret.

Tell me, O heav’ns, why is it of a need

to make me drunk on this bewild’ring stuff?

This melancholy wound from which I bleed,

this hemorrhage that never lets enough?

Will ever I be strong enou…