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𝘜𝘯𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘦 𝘺

𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘷𝘪𝘢

𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘴

𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴,

𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢ñ𝘢𝘯𝘢

𝘰𝘵𝘰ñ𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘦

𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘥𝘢

𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘥,

𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘦𝘯 𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘫𝘢𝘯

𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴

𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘴

𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘪 𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰,

𝘴𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘫𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘯

𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘭

𝘢 𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘱𝘦

𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘰,

𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘢𝘧í𝘢𝘯

𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘴

𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘴

𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘴,

𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘢 𝘴𝘦

𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘢 𝘢

𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘴

𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘺𝘢 𝘭𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘯,

𝘺 𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘮𝘰 𝘥𝘦

𝘮𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘻ó𝘯,

𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘴

𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘴,

𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘴

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢,

𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘴

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘵𝘪,

𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘴

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘴

𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘯

𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳,

𝘺 𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘴

𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘴

𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘦

𝘮𝘪 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘢,

𝘶𝘯 𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘰 𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘶𝘻

𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘣𝘦

𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘢

𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 /

𝘪𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢

𝘮𝘪 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘢 𝘺

𝘮𝘪 𝘤𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘰,

𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘪é𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘦 /

𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘢,

“ 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘰,

𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘦 𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘴,

𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘦 𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘴 “,

“ 𝘮á𝘴 𝘯𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘢

𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘴

𝘴𝘶𝘦ñ𝘰𝘴 𝘥𝘦

𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘴 “.

𝘝í𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘉𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘴 𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢

𝘌𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢

𝘊𝘈𝘙𝘙𝘐𝘓𝘖𝘉𝘖 - 𝘊Ó𝘙𝘋𝘖𝘉𝘈 - 𝘈𝘙𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘐𝘕𝘈