Lyrics:

Why are you standing here all alone in front of the
Gates and moaning to yourself over your misfortune?
Why are you standing here, alone, in front of the gates?

When the wars are done
The poet speaks with equal persuasiveness
On the wastes and misery that follow great conflicts
And pleads for tranquil times
Two loves I have, of comfort and despair
Which like two spirits do suggest me still
The better angel is a man right fair
The worser spirit a woman coloured ill
How many make the hour full complete;
How many hours bring about the day;
How many days will finish up the year;
How many years a mortal man may live
When this is known, then to divide the times:
So many hours must I contemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;
So many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean:
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:
So minutes, hours, days, months, and years
Pass'd over to the end they were created
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave
Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!