No, again I shan't aspire,
to free myself from this mire,
but wish my soul to retire,
and my feeble flame expire.
For always I shall go no higher,
nor ever reach life's twisted spire,
or walk again its razor wire,
or be consumed by its fire.
For you see, I now tire,
and can not keep the attire,
of the hope life may inspire,
from these depths so dark and dire.
So build at last my funeral pyre,
silence the last mournful crier,
and hide me from life that leering liar,
who with hope did conspire,
to make and mock my life entire.