Each day he wakes and takes a breath,
Wishing it would be his last.
All he does is pray for death;
To be forgotten, like the past.
His greatest dream: to live no more;
To leave this infernal place.
For his body to wash ashore
Where no one even knows his face.
Call it sinful, call it proud,
Call it whatever you'd like,
But when this Sun is blocked by clouds
No joy can ever strike.