A painter is cast into a weary world,
Beauty he praises with stones and sand,
The rushing crowd stomp over her stature,
Not they to blame for they are blind;
What sins done I for such cruel torture?
My heart it twists so suffer this pain,
For I cannot bring light to this earth,
Oh must I cease sight or let life lie?
Yet in cave here sits men with lamps,
Words on walls and songs from winds,
Dwell in sleep I dream your voice,
Dear friends oh nature love you not mine?
