My Spirit is old, my body young.
Burdened with songs left unsung.
Tomorrow is at the door,
bringing sorrows a score,
As night lays a-spread,
Morning is what I dread.
To sleep is hard,
till my soul departs.
I clothe my restlessness,
In deep darkness.
My Spirit has seen much,
It no longer can be touched,
I wish it could float away,
before a new day.
Yet the night I must endure,
To settle old scores,
Yes, I'll stay a while more,
With a Spirit sore.
