This is one of the most feelsy and existential songs I have ever heard. I think the translation in the description is missing some areas, I will post one I found somewhere;
Worldes blis ne last no throwe;
it went and wit awey anon.
The langer that ich hit iknowe,
the lass ich finde pris tharon;
for al it is imeind mid care,
mid serwen and mid evel fare,
and atte laste povre and bare
it lat man, wan it ginth agon.
Al the blis this heer and thare
bilucth at ende weep and mon.
Al the blis of thisse live
thu shalt, man, enden inne weep;
of hus and hom, of child and wive,
a, sali man, nim tharof keep.
For thu shalt al bileven heere
thet eighte warof lord thu weere;
wan thu list, man, upon the beere
and slapst that swithe dreeri slep,
shaltu have with thee no feere
but thine werkes on a hep.
Thinc, man, warto Crist thee wroute,
and do wey preed and felth and mood.
Thinc wu deere he thee aboute
o roode mid his sweete blood.
Himselven he yaf for thee in pris
to beien thee blis, yif thu be wis;
bithinc thee thanne, and up aris of senn,
and gin to werche good
tharwils time to werchen is,
for siker elles thu art wood.
Al day thu might understonde,
and ti mirour bifor thee seen,
wat is to doon and what to wonde
and what to holden and to fleen;
for al day thu sicst mid thin eie
wu this world went and wu men deie.
That wite wel, that thu shalt dreie
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