Is it my fault that I'm a poet
Of heavy suffering and bitter fate?
After all, it wasn't my choice -
It's just the way I came into the world.
Is it my fault that I don't cherish life,
That I love and simultaneously hate everyone,
And know things about myself I don't yet see -
That is my gift from the muse.
I know there is no happiness in life,
Life is lunacy, the dream of a sick soul,
And I know my gloomy tunes bore everyone,
But it's not my fault - that's the kind of poet I am.