It is dead alive
Which is always upset
I have another mind
Which towers above my sorrow
I live as I can
But not as I want
And get besides sorrow
What the day belongs to

One beats fate
Another his business
And paints life
Like a calendar writing
A third one plagues himself
With longing, sorrow and distress
And hence ends
For the sorrow of being born

And so one casts
His time uselessly away
And makes his remain's goal
Which quickly dwindles short
A fool lives
Only for discomfort
Doesn't have an hour
Yes, it's no calm day
I eat what I have
And sleep when I can
Pleased is my mind
Blissful is my stand