What he collected, will break through like a teal,
Like an awl from a bag, it will come out.
The police will come to the slaughter
Mercy will take the trouble out of it.

Not immediately a consequence and not forever
When ripe, the fruits will show
Through NEW blessings to a new affliction,
From trouble to bliss will lie.

The chain of transformations will be called futile,
Treasures of the pantry — corroded feed.
For the following genera
We gather with you
For the experience of humanity,
More perfect norms.