The Mortal Sickness Of A

This Is For All Ill-treated Fellows Unborn And Unbegot, For Them To Read When They're In Trouble And I Am Not.

The House Of Delusions Is Cheap To Build But Drafty To Live In.

That Is The Land Of Lost Content, I See It Shining Plain, The Happy Highways Where I Went And Cannot Come Again.

The Thoughts Of Others Were Light And Fleeting, Of Lovers' Meeting Or Luck Or Fame. Mine Were Of Trouble, And Mine Were Steady; So I Was Ready When Trouble Came.

Who Made The World I Cannot Tell; 'tis Made, And Here Am I In Hell. My Hand, Though Now My Knuckles Bleed, I Never Soiled With Such A Deed.