O Unborn, you are lucky,
Freeing from unceasing adversities;
Illusions are here infinite,
Making our thoughts merely desperate.

Every Present becomes Past,
Leaving our lives with frustrated fights;
To forget the gloomy Past,
By having intoxicated nights.

Troubles we have, as the stars in the sky,
Thank not you; can’t we say you bye;
Alas, our comfort has gone,
Letting us leisurelessly moan.

Loveable Death, lull me to eternal sleep,
Nothing on the Earth, I have to keep.