The star that shines in the secrets sites of life,
As dark as night or the way to the ruthless grave -
Sewn within the soul of a bothered alien peasant man
Strolling the nights like knights heart-driven to save.

Strong in character for his love is his worry,
So he lets go all that he loves and acts unwary,
And many better than he lie cold about the Waltloo complex
And only he has troubles of not reaching his goal.

Rumbles of the omnibus that conveys his secret love to sophisticated slavery
And there she wearies her brow in the place of a systematically sloathing man
While he descends the mountain where cold alone he lies at night among the straw-y grass
O! how love is a material issue buried within the soul of an anguished man.

Some men work a little and get gain not hard-fought for prior to the passing in the fore
And happily they live there till then and ever-more with minimul being the moan
And the love we so seek after - they get without the excruciating pain
And that - then after - to our pain is a grain for it will propagate and multiply.

Who am I to reproach for all this shame? Before I fade and wonder away
For all do labor for the woman's cheer: and a crave of nature filling empty heart holes
But yet alone upon the mountain I sleep without the thousand prayers I once said in vain.
She loves me not for she loves being paid and she sees me not for she sees his pay.
O! how love is a material issue buried within the soul of a anguished man.