My blood keep rising; face turn to red
Battling in heart either to give a blow
Getout! But still, thou's on the carpet
Surely, like the dog to see its master flow
The tears of frustration on the earth
Like the rain that infiltrate the plants to grow

Should a man die because he is the head?
I wish I never answered my hearts call
To lay my head on your mother's breast
For like the bamboo tree; she was tall
Which with figure eight shape give my speck
And embedded excess if this; I fall

I wonder how you got in to your mother's chamber
And after nine of thirty first waiting days
You came and now makes me agent of laughter
And I turn in to a roaring lion everyday.

Children of todays-morrow
Be an embodiment of happiness
To the roots of the trees of sorrow
For the father is the trees head.