Reveal thyself, oh mine soul

And be done with thine dance.

Behold the beauty of Release:

Be thee done, and walk on.

---

Four more, oh more, there are,

To them dids't ye say thine words? No!

Should ye be different here? Why bother!

Have a drink, and then another.

---

What would old Khayyam say of thee?

That ye are more wooden than a tree!

Indeed,thine patheticity is so deplorable that

We've all taken turns, mocking your stories!

---

Excuses, excuses, enough is enough!

Tell that which must be told, and do not be rough.

Then, be awakened by those words

That hardly feel like pink and fluff.