Birth Defect

These days I wish for my own death,
these days I find fault with my birth.

What kind of life is this, what curse of being born?
No joy, no peace, no rest—
this life so uncertain, so uncertain,
this life I never wanted!
Such uncertainty I never, never 
asked for. Life means joy and sorrow, laughter and tears, love... and
how long shall I keep hoping for that life?
What kind of life is this, what curse of being born?

These days, I find fault with my birth,
these days, I wish for my own death.