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𝘈𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘥
𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘢
𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘦𝘯
𝘦𝘴𝘢 𝘮𝘶𝘫𝘦𝘳,

𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘥
𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘦 𝘢
𝘶𝘯 𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘥𝘦
𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘨𝘪𝘢𝘴,

𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘥
𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢
𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘪 𝘤𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘰
𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘻 /

𝘭𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯
𝘴𝘶𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘴 𝘺
𝘴𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘴
𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘴,

𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘢 𝘯𝘶𝘣𝘦
𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘢 𝘦𝘯
𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘮𝘢ñ𝘢𝘯𝘢
𝘥𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘻𝘰,

𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘫𝘰
𝘮𝘪 𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘰,
𝘵𝘢𝘯 𝘳𝘰𝘫𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘰
𝘴𝘶𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘰𝘴,

𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘢 𝘴𝘶
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘮𝘦
𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘦
𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘦 /

𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘳
𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘴
𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘳í𝘰 𝘥𝘦
𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳 𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘪ó𝘯,

𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘥
𝘮𝘶𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘫𝘢𝘥𝘢
𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳
𝘺 𝘥𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢,

𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘳
𝘭𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘳á
𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘣𝘦 𝘢
𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘰,

𝘱𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘩𝘦
𝘵𝘶𝘷𝘦 𝘶𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘦ñ𝘰
𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘵ó
𝘮𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘻ó𝘯,

𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘴
𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘯,
𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘴á𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘴
𝘧𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘰,

𝘺 𝘫𝘪𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴
𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘢
𝘤𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘳𝘦
𝘮𝘪 𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰,

𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘰
𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘦
𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘦
𝘩𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰 /

𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘪
𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘢 𝘺
𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘢 𝘥𝘦
𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘥,

𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘴
𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘴𝘢 𝘮𝘶𝘫𝘦𝘳,
𝘦𝘴 𝘶𝘯 𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘷𝘰
𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳.

𝘝í𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘉𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘴 𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢
𝘌𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢

𝘊𝘈𝘙𝘙𝘐𝘓𝘖𝘉𝘖 - 𝘊Ó𝘙𝘋𝘖𝘉𝘈 - 𝘈𝘙𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘐𝘕𝘈