There's no understanding what you did,
Or why, or what we now should think or do:
No way to see what your last sorrow hid.
What unimaginable agony amid
Our ordinary lives unraveled you?
There's no understanding what you did,
No way for you to tell us why you rid
Yourself of us and family, and . . . who?
No way to see what your last sorrow hid.
Or was it you were just a spoiled kid,
Trying to make us all feel bad for you?
There's no understanding what you did,
Whether mere curiosity had bid
You to sneak ahead a lethal view;
No way to see what your last sorrow hid,
Nor penetrate that awful, granite lid
That lies between our thoughts and what is true.
There's no understanding what you did,
No way to see what your last sorrow hid.
