A painted bird, Whose feathers remain still. Such was the way my life. Stuck on impossible currency. Upiros puke for the blind, Merry people of my land. Stalking those, they bled for cash. Again back to times of cuffs and gags. Yet, the cuffs are good to parch streets And gags keep peace of mind. No matter how harsh the broken rights.
Soon will the ball bounce, Among the three of North. Beautiful like folk to celebrate the stain! For one founder of the Petrol law, Has been reduced to marsh. And we, as sensible chaps, Care of ourselves the main concern through all.
