She who my maternity is owned to
But I cannot boast of your outside
Does our black colour shadow our thoughts
Affirmatively, my conscience answers

Why doesn't the middle finger groom itself
Is it because it is the tallest
Selfishly want to be the only to be illuminated
Visualizing its phalanges condescendingly
And distorting the network

The network is now broken
How can we hold the basket
To receive manna from above
Even God can come down
But no success when we are not one.