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𝘊𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘴
𝘺𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘴
𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘴
𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘰𝘴,
𝘤𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢
𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘪ó𝘯
𝘥𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘦ñ𝘰𝘴
𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘢,
𝘤𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘴
𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘰𝘴
𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘫𝘢𝘮á𝘴
𝘴𝘦𝘳á𝘯 𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘰,
𝘤𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢
𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘥
𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘦 𝘢
𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘮𝘰,
𝘶𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳
𝘺 𝘶𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘳
𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘴
𝘣𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘴,
𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘢
𝘪𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘢
𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘦
𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪é𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘴,
𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘢
𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘴
𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘢ñ𝘰𝘴
𝘥𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘵ó𝘯,
𝘶𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘻𝘰
𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘭 𝘤𝘢í𝘥𝘢𝘴,
𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘦
𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘳,
𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘴
𝘴𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘴,
𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘯
𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘢ñ𝘰𝘴 /
𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘶𝘯
𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰
𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘥í𝘢𝘴
𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘰𝘴,
𝘰𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘰𝘴
𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴
𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘴
𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴,
𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴
𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘴
𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘴
𝘥𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘣ó𝘯,
𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘢
𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢,
𝘭𝘢 𝘭𝘦𝘫𝘢𝘯𝘢,
𝘭𝘢 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦,
𝘭𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢
𝘮𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘢𝘴 𝘺
𝘮𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘴
𝘤𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘴 /
𝘩𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘪
𝘶𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘦
𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢 𝘦𝘯
𝘭𝘰 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘰,
𝘤𝘢𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘴
𝘭á𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘴
𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘫𝘢𝘴
𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘵𝘰ñ𝘰,
𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘭á 𝘷𝘢
𝘮𝘪 𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰,
𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘰
𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘰.
𝘝í𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘉𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘴 𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢
𝘌𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢
𝘊𝘈𝘙𝘙𝘐𝘓𝘖𝘉𝘖 - 𝘊Ó𝘙𝘋𝘖𝘉𝘈 - 𝘈𝘙𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘐𝘕𝘈