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ᵂᶦᵗʰ ᵉʸᵉˢ ʷʰᶦᶜʰ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵐᶦⁿᵉ ˡᵒʷᵉʳ,
ᴬ ˢᵐᶦˡᵉ ʷʰᶦᶜʰ ᶦˢ ˡᵒˢᵗ ᵒⁿ ʰᶦˢ ˡᶦᵖˢ,
ᵀʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵘⁿᵉᵐᵇᵉˡˡᶦˢʰᵉᵈ ᵖᵒʳᵗʳᵃᶦᵗ
ᴼᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ʷʰᵒᵐ ᴵ ᵇᵉˡᵒⁿᵍ.
ᵂʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ᵗᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵐᵉ ᶦⁿ ʰᶦˢ ᵃʳᵐˢ
ᴴᵉ ˢᵖᵉᵃᵏˢ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ ᶦⁿ ᵃ ˡᵒʷ ᵛᵒᶦᶜᵉ,
ᴵ ˢᵉᵉ ˡᶦᶠᵉ ᵃˢ ᶦᶠ ᶦᵗ ʷᵉʳᵉ ʳᵒˢᵉ⁻ᵗᶦⁿᵗᵉᵈ.
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