Ashes adrift
On rusty water
Pale memory
Of a cold winter
Phebus, high above, shines
Its warm rays; Time at last
Is with me, in the palm
Of my weary hand, yet
I am more lost today
Than ever in the years
Of hardship when I longed
For this freedom and sun
Cursed be this diseased
Mind of mine, a prisonner
Whose shackles are no more!