It bit our in a wrong language, control less
Mouth, yelled at thee like scavenger,
Thrashed thine wounds, tested thine patience,
Let the art streaming tears, thine ticker ticked countlessly.
The aim was not to quarrel with thee,

Sorry all hoods gazed thou, making muse
That mush your sensitive, left body ache,
Scars on your heart,
Hold no grudge, shake the hand of truce.