The brook, meandering merrily.
The sky was a brilliant azure,
And I was singing a melancholy.
My friends told me tales of joy,
When they were in a pleasant mood.
But, I, being a morose, sad, boy,
Cried and stod aloof.
The weather was jolly,
The season was bonny,
With flowers all blooming.
But I, instead of being happy,
Stood still, my knees bent down, brooding.
I was the orphan, of the orphanage,
My home was long lost.
In the great fire of the forest, in the fiery rage.
My sweet, little home was lost.
My heart has undergone various scrars and scratches,
My parents are gone, leaving behind, just ashes...
