Happiness is not a word
I'm fond of
my music has tears
for those who have heard-

I'm lonely and unwell
life is but a veil of sorrow
so heavy does it hover
upon me-- wherever I go-

I compose best at night
when the day's harshness no longer does burn
a mysterious force guides my hand
the outcome is my every weeping nocturne-

longing, dreaming, melancholy
are found in my every note
I care not for the light of day
only for longer  hours of night I hope