Why me, why these warm fingers to touch
my heart, grown cold and hard and dead?
Is it my peace that you need this time?
Did I not pay enough the time before?
Do you require that I feel again,
must I be made to suit
your will?

Was it not enough,
that I gave everything,
Soul, and love and strength
till there was
none left, none for me?

Did I offend so deeply, must you touch
this wintered life with love again?
Did you not lay me down to rest,
a life unfulfilled?

What travesty is this, an unholy resurrection,
warmth in the unmarked grave of a heart?
Take then these tears to you, let them go,
unremarked remittance of a man to his god.

Take then this heart to you, for I have
need of it
no more.