I let thee ope thine eyes to mine own sorrow.

I let thee trace mine own scars with thy hand.

I let thee cast a veil of woe o’er mine own mirth.

Yet still, it sufficeth not.

Thou watchest from thy chamber of secrets,

Thy silent heart doth slumber in the dark.

Thou bidst us kindle light within thy life,

And it doth bring thee joy.

Mark well my suffering,

Mark well mine anguish,

Mark well my wailing

For the life that was rightfully mine.

And wherefore?

Thou say’st ‘tis for I am chosen.

Thou say’st ‘tis for I am divine.

Thou say’st ‘tis for I am prophetic.

I say ‘tis for thou dost revel in mine own ruin.

Modern English translation:

I let you open your eyes to my sorrow.

I let you paint my scars with your hands.

I let you cover my excitement with sadness.

It was not enough.

You watch me from your chamber of secrets.

Your silent heart resting in that dark room.

You wait for us to shine our light in your life.

It makes you happy.

Watch me suffer,

Watch me grovel,

Watch me wail

For a life that was rightfully mine.

And why?

You say it’s because I’m special.

You say it’s because I’m spiritual.

You say it’s because I’m prophetic.

I say it’s because you enjoy my demise.