Moreover, I promise to do it again.
I had given it all I had,
I even spilled the ink down the ditch,
In harmony with the counselors,
From my wise comrades:
Trying to make it stop,
But it has never.
I had turned my tone to a whisper,
And I trained my heart to beat quietly.
Everyone is in favor of not frightening the angel.
Sent from heaven, above,
Trying to make it stop,
But it has never.
I bottled up all that I had.
I became a patient listener,
To the angel with twinkling eyes:
Until my tube filled up,
Trying to make it stop,
But it has never.
Then it was inspected as it moved to the left.
My appellation bellowed out,
Over and over again,
Until nothing else was left in me,
But a smile whenever it looked up,
As a mechanic, I tried to fix
But then, it never worked.
Nevertheless, I have every reason to beam,
Because it is certain that elsewhere in the realm,
My portraits are in custody of an alien;
They are saved in their arcade
And they keep imagining of me,
All nighttime.
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