I'm trying to picture it: 
Why was I born? 
Why am I misgiving? 
Why am I living? 
When the ghost of pain dances with me.

I know I am the master of ceremonies of painful nights; 
I'm weeping intrinsically. 
Why do I smell death? 
Mournful butterflies flutter around me. 

Pain in the night is burning. 
Was I born to have a purposeless life? 
Was I born to be tormented by maladies that can't be cured?
 
Who am I? 
I am the tears that drop like rain 
So that I can grow out of this pain. 
I wonder if my life will ever see happiness. 
Again, why was I born?