\" 𝑳𝑨𝑺 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑬𝑫𝑬𝑺 𝑯𝑨𝑩𝑳𝑨𝑵 \"
𝘓𝘢 𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘷𝘪𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘢
𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘢
𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘢,
𝘮𝘪 𝘤𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘴𝘵á
𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘥𝘰,
𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪 𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰
𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘶𝘺𝘢
𝘩𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭
𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢ñí𝘢 𝘢
𝘮𝘪 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘥,
𝘫𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢
𝘦𝘭 𝘮á𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰
𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘮𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢
𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘴
𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘪 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘢,
𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘴
𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘯,
𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘰 𝘦𝘴𝘵á𝘯
𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘴 𝘺
𝘩𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢,
𝘶𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘰
𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢
𝘭𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘩𝘦
𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰
𝘮𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴,
𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘴á𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘴
𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘫𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦
𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘴
𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘯
𝘴𝘶 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘮𝘦,
𝘭𝘢 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘢
𝘪𝘯𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘢
𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘢ñ𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘴
𝘴𝘶𝘦ñ𝘰𝘴 𝘺
𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘰𝘴,
𝘢𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘥𝘦
𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘴 𝘰𝘵𝘰ñ𝘰𝘴
𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰
𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘰 𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘢
𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘰,
𝘮𝘪 𝘤𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘰
𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘰
𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦
𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘭
𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘳 𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢,
𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘴
𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘰𝘴,
𝘮𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘻ó𝘯
𝘦𝘴𝘵á 𝘷𝘢𝘤í𝘰,
𝘺𝘢 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦,
𝘺 𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘴𝘵á,
𝘴𝘶 𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘢
𝘭𝘢 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢,
𝘱𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰 𝘯𝘰
𝘭𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘻𝘤𝘰,
𝘩𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰
𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘢
𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘢,
𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘫ó 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢
𝘯𝘰 𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳.
𝘝í𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘉𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘴 𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢
𝘌𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢
𝘊𝘈𝘙𝘙𝘐𝘓𝘖𝘉𝘖 - 𝘊Ó𝘙𝘋𝘖𝘉𝘈 - 𝘈𝘙𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘐𝘕𝘈