Spending these lonesome evenings with nothing to do,
but to live in dreams that I make up,
all by myself.
Dreaming that you're beside me,
I picture the pertiest stories,
only to wake up all by myself.
What is the good of me by myself?
Why was I born?
Why am I living?
what do I get?
What am I giving?
Why do I want to think,
I dare and hope for.
What can I hope for?
I wish I knew!
Why do I try?
to draw you near me,
Why do I cry?
You never hear me.
I'm a poor fool, but what can I do?
Why was I born,
to love you?
I'm a poor fool, but what can I do?
Why was I born,
to love you?

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