Dew of My Heart

I would like to become a wise old man

And I listen and seek experience, to help me become wise

But I feel like I am holding my head inside of a raging fire,

and bringing in what I can from life.

But for all of it, it only hurts to live.

It hurts to see the world through my own eyes.

My heart is sick with a pain that comes out of the air like dew

and rests on all of my quiet moments.

Why was I born with such an awful heart?