Of a casted mind on the rock of imagination,
A bond to the made wood of life,
With I and myself and my prudence,
Seeking refuge on the Caprice of the soul.

Cherish is I over the soul comforter,
Turn the soul towards the wood of life,
Inside me, was the life of a burning soul,
Raging out the emotions of the heart.

My wrist, is the mouth of the soul,
My eyes, the sharp sword of truth,
My tongue, the splash of the burning soul,
In me therein, was the gate to the world .

An autophil I am, to the disposal of my soul,
The burning heart of a lion on hunt,
Aggressive was I on the search of my feelings,
Bear in not the leniency of the the caged soul.