Why do the wizards of the world despise me?
Why do only my servants love, honour and prize me?
Why do I possess the powers which gave me
My sorcering skill, and will nothing save me?

Why am I a prisoner in this world of mine?
Why do I constantly see the dark sign?
When will I be once more back into power
Will I always be the figure before people cower?

Will I ever understand why I always am black?
Am I like this forever or will I someday crack?
Where do I come from, and will I someday return?
Will I ever be loved and protected in turn?

When my questions are answered will it quench my thirst?
For all-seeing power and knowledge, at worst?
Or will I still remain The Lord Voldemort?
Will people pity me, or spare me thought?