> The man without joy is all alone
> In a dark corner of his home
> Feeling cold to the bone
> He is joyless and unknown
>
> The man without joy walks in fear
> Unsure footsteps no one can hear
> His smile has turned to a sneer
> Always distant, never near
>
> The man without joy thinks of this
> He thinks of things that he will miss
> The happiness, mirth and bliss
> The memory of a dark kiss
>
> The man without joy is no more
> Once he had doubts, now he is sure
> Only one thing in life that is pure
> Death is the friend he looked for
>
So very true. I wonder this connection of eternal joy with death. Sounds gloomy but I find it meaningful.
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