So caught up in those bushes,
Their souls, alas!
The thorns of Finity,
Spears of crystal glass.
For love so finite,
And looks so fickle,
And fame so treacherous,
And disloyal the nickel.
And what of me?
What is mine,
Deeds I have,
For all my spine?
Allah, our Lord,
Guide us the Way,
Your Mercy, Your Pleasure,
On the Day!
