They claim I speak too quickly
But they listen too slowly

Show me where I am wrong
Perhaps you'll preach it in a song
Or write advice as a prose
And sign it with a scent of rose

Run it till your legs go numb
Like an infant ***** her thumb
Shout it till your throat goes dry
As a bug flies in your eye

I began to learn of me
On the bottom of the sea
But now it is the time of grass
A sight into Earth's looking glass.