Don’t mourn for me when I’m dead,
for I already, in my head,
have long since gone away and left
not but a hollow shell.

I have been filled with that which I
know to be love that will not die,
so now I sit in silent pain
alone here in my hell.

My sorrow is not for the one
I can’t posses (though that’s no fun)
but rather for the simple fact
that I do not deserve

to claim a love for such as her.
She is an angel, sweet and pure
and I am just a nothing.
Just a servant, so I serve.

She is a light that fills my day
with happiness, though far away,
but each night I’m in agony
while dreaming of my love.

And always will I shed a tear
whenever I think of my dear
and question “Who am I to love
this perfect angel from above?”

I do not tell her how I feel.
The consequences are too real
and I would never trouble her.
I’m low and she’s so high.

So every day just goes on by
and each day more and more I die
and always will I start to cry
each time I question “Who am I?”