In the words of Mortal Men,
     In times of trouble and such,
We raise a Language to ourselves,
     And leave out words so much.
The words of which I speak,
     The words of which I write,
Should never be forgotton,
     But should be brought to light.
I speak of which I write,
     I write of which I speak,
The words supposed of manhood,
     To be so very weak.
I pray thee from my heart,
     They do anything to ask,
But they leave one simple phrase,
     After help with their task.
They mutter one small thanks,
     And then they soon ignore,
Gratitude is what brought us here,
     Unto this blissfull shore.