Oh my soul, that once was bold, how battered you must be
from bitter toil and vile turmoil that has beleaguered me.
From withering words once deemed absurd, now fiercer than a bite.
From sneering lips that sliced and ripped, inflicting dreadful fright.
Oh my soul! My battered soul! How grieved you must appear,
encased within this carnal sin, assailed by constant jeers,
how horrified of seeing me who dissipates with time,
while you await to greet a fate, eternal life sublime.
Oh my soul, my battered soul! How many are your screams?
How often have you groaned and moaned from painful wounds that stream
with bright-red blood, this crimson flood, this burden of a bond,
until this blight that causes fright, with death is finally gone?