𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚞𝚗
𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎,
𝙰𝚗𝚍, 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍
𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚍, 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍
𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍,
𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍
𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝
𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚝.

𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚏, 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚊𝚢,
𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚗𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝, 𝚋𝚢 𝚢𝚎𝚊 𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚊𝚢
𝙸𝚏, 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕
𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎
𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎
𝙽𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕
𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚜𝚝
𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝.