Why?

There's no understanding what you did,
Or why, or what I now should think or do:
No way to see what my last sorrow hid.

What unimaginable agony amid
Our ordinary lives unraveled you?
There's no understanding what you did,

No way for you to tell me why you rid
Yourself of me, and . . . why?
No way to see what my last sorrow hid.

Or was it you were just spoiled,
Trying to make me all feel bad for you?
There's no understanding what you did,

Whether mere curiosity had bid
You to sneak ahead a lethal view;
No way to see what my last sorrow hid,

Nor penetrate that awful, granite lid
That lies between our thoughts and what is true.
There's no understanding what you did,
No way to see what my last sorrow hid.