I Do Not Desire De Trop Fame

O perish and perish,
Why must it be hellish!
I see no hope,
I see no sense.
Why shall it differ,
A few years hence?

I see no other route;
I cannot follow suit.
O the melancholy,
O the misery!
It is empty,
Save for agony.

I feel no guilt, no shame,
But I do not desire de trop fame.
I find it hostile,
I find it dreary.
Why, can you not see,
That I have become weary?