So 'tis my creature with fireful dreaming,
Its clothes are made by ethereal linen,
It comes when night's falling,
It's scratching and woving,
But all my remorse cannot hide my destruction,
And gratifying sorrow, it may not conduct us.
I wrote all my thoughts on my eyes and my forehead,
You carried your sights on Venetian lorry,
Its canals grow crushing
Upon my brickstone
And waterfalls dashes
Towards my blue throne.
It gives me more pleasant, hilarious nothion
To trust all my faith your imperial Ocean
With greetings obey, and with thorns be content -
And dusk nourishment blarneys all precious bent...