𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚢, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝
𝙾𝚏 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚎𝚜;
𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝
𝙼𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜:
𝚃𝚑𝚞𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝
𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚊𝚞𝚍𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚜.

𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎, 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜,
𝙷𝚊𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚜𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜,
𝙾𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚘'𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎;
𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜
𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚍𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎.

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚔, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘'𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠,
𝚂𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝, 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖, 𝚢𝚎𝚝 𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚝,
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚠,
𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚞𝚗 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚝,
𝙰 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠,
𝙰 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝!

—𝙻𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙱𝚢𝚛𝚘𝚗