Immured by her graceless homeland, her inelegant landsmen—a lonesome lady weeps as the day dawns, but she can see you beaming and laughing,
and so she beams, and she laughs along with you.
Encaged in a loathsome abode by her kinsfolk—the lonesome lady glooms as the clock hands move, but she can hear you telling her that everything will be all right,
and so she tells you that she might disappear soon, but everything will be all right.
Entrapped in the endless melancholy, the constant solitude—still, the lonesome lady weeps as the night falls, but she can feel you stroking her locks and holding her hand,
and so she weeps, and she keeps weeping.