It's been a month since I've cut my hair short
And in another month, I'll cut it again,
and the next month, another inch,
and more inch, and more inch...
As it tries to grow longer, I'll stop it there.
I'll chop it, if it tries to go past my shoulder.
And by December, I'll have a hair and body you have never touched, ever.
And by January, I'll be a brand new person
yet someone you'll never forget forever.

What of languages, if you only need one or two words to say you're sorry?

What of learning dialects, if you only need a single sentence to tell me why you think I deserved whatever **** you've put me in?

What use are the multiple languages you speak, when you can't use a single one of them to justify what you did?

What about the new language you taught me, is it even ours to begin with?
What good is it, if I'm now gagged, silenced and mute?

So what of languages, if you are to be exiled soon, with your tongue tied too?

So what of my dialects, if I couldn't even ask myself to forgive and forget, to let it go and give it a rest?

So what use are the multiple languages we speak, if we can't use a single word, a sentence, not a single language to say
the multitudes of feelings we feel?

What about the new language you taught me? I wanna write these words in scripts, only to light them in a fire.
How good will it be, if I were to be the bad guy this time?

𝑬𝒔 𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒐. 𝑺𝒐𝒚 𝒚𝒐.
𝑳𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒅𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒍𝒂,
𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒔𝒍𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒇𝒖𝒆𝒈𝒐
𝒚 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒔𝒍𝒂 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒂𝒔.

𝑬𝒔 𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒐. 𝑺𝒐𝒚 𝒚𝒐.
¡𝑳𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒂!
𝒀 𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒂 𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂,
𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝑳𝑨 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒂!
𝑳𝒂 ú𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒂. 𝑬𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒚 𝒚𝒐.

𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒚𝒂 𝒗𝒐𝒚.
𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒔é 𝒅𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔
𝒚 𝒔𝒆 𝒍𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒓é 𝒔𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒆𝒍 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒐.
𝑫𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒓í𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒆.
𝑫𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒅𝒓í𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒆.
𝑺𝒐𝒚 𝒂𝒍𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒅𝒓í𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒓.

𝑷𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒔 𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒑𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂
𝒚 𝒏𝒐 𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒓 𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒂.
𝑺𝒐𝒚 𝒂𝒍𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒅𝒓í𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒓.

𝑸𝒖𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔.

                            
                              𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐,
                      ­  𝑳𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒂

𝑰 𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒚 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒂𝒓𝒚, 𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒅,
𝑰 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒊𝒕 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔...
𝑶𝒉, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒙
𝒐𝒇 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆...

𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆
𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆?
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒂 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒂 𝒕𝒐 𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓
𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅, 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒉?
𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒉𝒚𝒎𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅
𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒓?
𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒖𝒎
𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕?
𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒎 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏
𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔?
𝑩𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆,
𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒖𝒊𝒕?
𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅
𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓?
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒍,
𝑰 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓.

𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅'𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒆, 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒅,
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒔...
𝑶𝒉, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒐𝒌𝒆
𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒕𝒉...

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒏
𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒏 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒐𝒌.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒏𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒖𝒈𝒐
𝒐 𝒅𝒖𝒈𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒐 𝒏𝒈 𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒐.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒔𝒐𝒌𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒂 𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒌
𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒌 𝒔𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒐.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒂 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒕
𝒐 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑰𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒚𝒐𝒏
𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒚𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒕 𝒃𝒖𝒌𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝑰𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒐.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒖𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒐𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒑𝒖𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒊.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒍
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒖𝒓𝒊.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒕 𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒋𝒆 𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒛𝒂.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒓𝒂
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒚𝒐
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒐𝒕 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒂.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒐
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒌 𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒂 𝒂𝒍𝒃𝒂
𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒖𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒐 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒐𝒔.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒘 𝒔𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒔𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒘.
𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒔𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏.

𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕, 𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅
𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆;
𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒍.
𝑨 𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒍.
𝑨 𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒖𝒕 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒔,
𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒔.
𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒚, 𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒏;
𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒅,
𝒕𝒐 𝒏𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚,
𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒏.

𝑨 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆...
𝑼𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒊𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆.
𝑰𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒚
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒏.

𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒔,
𝒔𝒐 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒚,
𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆;
𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒏.
𝑨 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒆.
𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒌𝒏𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍,
𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒔.
𝑼𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚, 𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒂 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒏;
𝑰𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅,
𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚,
𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒂 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅...
𝑼𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍.
𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔,
𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒕 𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒛𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍.

𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕á𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒎𝒂 𝒅𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔
𝒚 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒐,
𝒂𝒒𝒖í 𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒊 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒊ó𝒏 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒖 𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒏𝒐𝒔;

𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝑷𝒂𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒔
𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔,
¡𝑻𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒛𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔!

𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝑹𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒐𝒔
𝒚 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒗𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒔𝒐𝒔,
¡𝑵𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒊!

𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒓ó𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒔
𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒃𝒓ó𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔,
¡𝑻𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔!

¿𝑸𝒖𝒆 𝒎á𝒔?
¡𝑨𝒉, 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐, 𝒄𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔!
¡𝑴𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒍 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒐
𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒖𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔!

𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒔 𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒔,
𝑬𝒔𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒈𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍,
𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒔.
¡𝑵𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒊, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒕ú 𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔
𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒆𝒍 𝒈𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓!

¿𝑸𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒎á𝒔?
¡𝑷𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒎á𝒔!
𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒔,
𝒍𝒂 𝒎á𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒕í𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒗𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂.
¡𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒗í𝒂 𝒏𝒐 𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒕í𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒔, 𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔!

¡𝑨𝒚, 𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔!
𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕á𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒎𝒂 𝒅𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔
𝒚 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒐,
𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒂 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒒𝒖é 𝒉𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔
𝒅𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒖𝒏 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒐.

𝑷𝒐𝒓 𝒍𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐,
𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒂 𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒐𝒔,
¡𝒍í𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒛 𝒚 𝒆𝒍 𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆!

𝑨𝒎𝒆𝒏.