Miserere.

If the desert is dry and sad
And the heat is just too deadly
I look up for the oasis
That comforts the weak and thirsty.

But what I find is endless sand
And in my hand, an empty cup
The spring is now nowhere to find
Maybe somehow, it just dried up.

Where on earth is this wondrous spring
That has always restored my zeal?
Where else can I find the spirit
In life that the spring made me feel?

Maybe the spring did not exist
Or maybe I am just too blind
Is this beautiful spring over
Or am I just too tired to find?