My hair is white, though once, was black
I am never a king but always a jack-
of-all-trades, without a single master.
I hold my breath for the upcoming disaster.
I hear the resounding attack.
I feel my face split, my soul crack.
If only, if only I could win back
the one that I love, now encased in plaster.
My hair is white.

I miss her voice. I miss her sharp track
of mind, her smile. If I could call back,
the memory of her gaze of aster.
Oh, I'd spend my days as a pastor.
I lay down my head on my sack.
My hair is white.