O, While You Live, Tell Truth, And

There Was A Star Danced, And Under That Was I Born.

Who Would Be So Mocked With Glory, Or To Live But In A Dream Of Friendship, To Have His Pomp And All What State Compounds But Only Painted, Like His Varnished Friends?

My Cake Is Dough, But I'll In Among The Rest, Out Of Hope Of All But My Share Of The Feast.

Guiltiness Will Speak, Though Tongues Were Out Of Use

The Rest, Is Silence.