The complete disarrangement of all my senses, myself my I

Is threatened with the bitter sound of uncertain rumour

That possesses an urgency of unwillingness

An incomprehension of thought

The improvised mediocrity of relished indignity

Asinine questions, absurd and ludicrous probing

Accusations and primitive propensities

The deformities of exaggerated obscenities

That blame and brand myself my I as mad

They have stolen liars tongues