just coping with *)

My soul, a place unfathomed deep
where speaking monsters restless creep
They carve, like an industrious wright,
my undercrofts, as black as night
So when I cry to you, please know
there lie the mere roots of my woe

No sheltering vaults for grief or pain
nor Heavens realm. Old Adams main:
a poisoned bog, a manure heap
And scratches in the flesh do sneap
So, if I ever cry you'll know
it's the old De Profundis woe

I dare not tread that horrid place
to my sane body a disgrace
My maker called it apple tree
And yet it resonates in me
Voicing its voice will make you know
from ancient times the human woe

*) if you think a psalm has to be sung to be a real psalm, you can sing this text to the tune of Eternal Father strong to save, the hymn of the US Navy, that valiant combatant against the adversaries from the axes of Evil, wielder of the thunderbolt.