These haunting questions that shadow my soul,
That no one inquires, they torment my mind.
This enlightenment, it’s made me a ghoul,
Yet we desire this… this curse of a kind.

Like I had, they will soon come to regret,
This putrid search of theirs for all knowledge.
Philosophy? Not a blessing, a get,
That isolates you like a bitter wedge.

If I could turn back Father Time’s hourglass,
I’d never have chosen to learn this truth.
It’s a fruitless wish, a scream for the past,
But still, I falsely hope to ditch this troth.

Why I suffered, I asked the heavens then,
Why I had to bear the Wise Man’s Burden.