Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
Held in contempt, and discarded as a bit of flotsam in the Sea of despair.
Yea, do not cry for me my wanton heart,
For falling rain will not heal my tortured soul.
Fix me. Mend my infirmities and comfort my mind.
Let me not fall prey to the beast of emptiness,
Let me drink from your cup oh god of kindness,
And may thy mercy be cast upon me.