ℐ 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒸ℴ𝓃𝒻ℯ𝓈𝓈, 𝓂𝒾𝓃ℯ 𝒽ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒷ℯ 𝓃ℴ𝓉 𝓈ℴ 𝒸ℴ𝓁𝒹,
𝒩ℴ𝓇 𝒶𝓂 ℐ 𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝓁ℴℴ𝒻 𝒶𝓈 ℐ 𝒹𝒾𝒹 𝒻ℯ𝒾ℊ𝓃.
𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉ℯ, ℐ 𝓈ℯℯ𝓀, 𝒹ℴ𝓉𝒽 𝓃ℴ𝓉 𝓎ℯ𝓉 𝓉𝒶𝓀ℯ 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒽ℴ𝓁𝒹,
ℱ𝒶𝓇 𝒻𝓇ℴ𝓂 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓁ℴ𝒻𝓉𝓎 𝓈ℯ𝓁𝒻 ℐ 𝓌ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃.

ℐ 𝓁ℴ𝓃ℊ 𝓉ℴ 𝒷ℯ 𝒶 𝓈ℴ𝓊𝓁 ℴ𝒻 𝒻ℯℯ𝓁𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝓃ℴ𝓃ℯ,
𝒜 𝓂𝒶𝓃 ℴ𝒻 𝓈𝓉ℯℯ𝓁, 𝓊𝓃𝓉ℴ𝓊𝒸𝒽ℯ𝒹 𝒷𝓎 𝒻𝒾ℯ𝓇𝓎 𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓂ℯ,
𝒴ℯ𝓉 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾ℴ𝓃'𝓈 𝓈𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒹ℴ𝓉𝒽 𝓂ℯ𝓁𝓉 𝓂ℯ, '𝓉𝒾𝓈 𝓊𝓃𝒹ℴ𝓃ℯ,
𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝒾𝓃ℯ 𝒽ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒹ℴ𝓉𝒽 ℊ𝓇ℴ𝓌 𝒶 𝒸𝓇ℯℯ𝓅𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓂ℯ.

𝒜𝓃𝓃ℴ𝓎𝒶𝓃𝒸ℯ 𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓈𝓉, 𝒻ℴ𝓇 ℐ 𝒶𝓂 𝒻𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓁,
𝒩ℴ𝓉 𝒽ℯ ℴ𝒻 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹ℯ𝓃ℯ𝒹 𝒻ℴ𝓇𝓂 ℐ 𝓈ℴ𝓊ℊ𝒽𝓉 𝓉ℴ 𝒷ℯ.
𝒜 𝓂ℴ𝓇𝓉𝒶𝓁 𝓉𝓇𝓊ℯ, ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓀 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒽𝓁𝓎 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓁,
𝒜 𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓃𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻ℯ𝒾𝓉, 𝓎ℯ𝓉 𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝓋ℯ𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓎.