There are many things you lose with your soul:
Desire, discretion, compassion, control;
Each morning is torture,
Each evening a curse,
Nothing gets better -
You clamber up mountains to fall off the cliffs,
You swim in the ocean to set life adrift,
But nothing fills up the hole in your heart -
Not life, not death, not science, not art.
The wisdom of saints and the guile of an elf
Could lead you to everything but your own self;
That’s why when you lose it they say you have sinned -
As then all your joys are dust in the wind.