From what wells have I drunk these cursed potions
That I should stumble all the way to my Maker
Bruised, tussled and broken
From which spring did these enchanted waters flow
That they should see me to my fatal fall
Oh shameful, filthy and greedy hearts
Must I have taken a sip of you?
Where are you now greedy art?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem