Leonce and Lena

My poor tired feet, you have to dance

In shoes so gay,

And yet you'd sooner rest deep, deep

Beneath the clay...

My poor, hot cheeks, you have to flare

With passion's might

For all the pallor you would sooner wear

Of roses white

My poor, poor eyes, you have to sparkle

In the candles' light,

And yet to flee your pain you'd sooner sleep

In darkest night.