𝔒𝔟'𝔰 𝔰𝔱ü𝔯𝔪𝔱 𝔬𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔠𝔥𝔫𝔢𝔦𝔱, 𝔬𝔟 𝔡𝔦𝔢 𝔖𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔢 𝔲𝔫𝔰 𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔱,
𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔤𝔩ü𝔥𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔢𝔦ß 𝔬𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔢𝔦𝔰𝔨𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔡𝔦𝔢 𝔑𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔱,
𝔟𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔲𝔟𝔱 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔦𝔢 𝔊𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔠𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔯, 𝔡𝔬𝔠𝔥 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔥 𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔲𝔫𝔰𝔢𝔯 𝔖𝔦𝔫𝔫,
𝔢𝔰 𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔲𝔫𝔰𝔢𝔯 𝔓𝔞𝔫𝔷𝔢𝔯 𝔦𝔪 𝔖𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔪𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔞𝔥𝔦𝔫.

𝔐𝔦𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔪 𝔐𝔬𝔱𝔬𝔯, 𝔰𝔬 𝔰𝔠𝔥𝔫𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔴𝔦𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔅𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔷.
𝔇𝔢𝔪 𝔉𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔢 𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔤𝔢𝔤𝔢𝔫, 𝔦𝔪 𝔓𝔞𝔫𝔷𝔢𝔯𝔤𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔥ü𝔱𝔷.
𝔙𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔲𝔰 𝔡𝔦𝔢 𝔎𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔫, 𝔦𝔪 𝔎𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔣𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔥'𝔫 𝔴𝔦𝔯 𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔦𝔫, 𝔧𝔞 𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔦𝔫,
𝔰𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔬ß𝔢𝔫 𝔴𝔦𝔯 𝔱𝔦𝔢𝔣 𝔦𝔫 𝔡𝔦𝔢 𝔣𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔩𝔦𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔫 ℜ𝔢𝔦𝔥'𝔫.

𝔐𝔦𝔱 𝔖𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔢𝔫 𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔗𝔞𝔫𝔨𝔰 𝔥ä𝔩𝔱 𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔊𝔢𝔤𝔫𝔢𝔯 𝔲𝔫𝔰 𝔞𝔲𝔣,
𝔴𝔦𝔯 𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔡𝔞𝔯ü𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔞𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔫 𝔫𝔦𝔠𝔥𝔱 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔲𝔣,
𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔠𝔥ü𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔱 𝔢𝔯 𝔤𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔪𝔦𝔤 𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔴ü𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔢 ℌ𝔞𝔫𝔡,
𝔴𝔦𝔯 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔲𝔫𝔰 𝔚𝔢𝔤𝔢, 𝔡𝔦𝔢 𝔨𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔱 𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔡.

𝔘𝔫𝔡 𝔩äß𝔱 𝔲𝔫𝔰 𝔦𝔪 𝔖𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔥 𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔱 𝔡𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔲𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔊𝔩ü𝔠𝔨
𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔨𝔢𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔫 𝔴𝔦𝔯 𝔫𝔦𝔠𝔥𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔡𝔦𝔢 ℌ𝔢𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔱 𝔷𝔲𝔯ü𝔠𝔨,
𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔣𝔣𝔱 𝔲𝔫𝔰 𝔡𝔦𝔢 𝔗𝔬𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔨𝔲𝔤𝔢𝔩, 𝔯𝔲𝔣𝔱 𝔲𝔫𝔰 𝔡𝔞𝔰 𝔖𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔨𝔰𝔞𝔩 𝔞𝔟,
𝔡𝔞𝔫𝔫 𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔲𝔫𝔰𝔢𝔯 𝔓𝔞𝔫𝔷𝔢𝔯 𝔢𝔦𝔫 𝔢𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔰 𝔊𝔯𝔞𝔟.