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When the mountain-hungry cock crows,
Saying something to you, but you ignore,
When he sits on your pretty eyebrows,
Flying to you soon leaving a cheeky whore
O! Sweet love a rival sits in your bosom,
He feeds you against my love choice,
I listen alone to your pretty twosome,
That says you Yea leave your rejoice.
My intuition tells me you from me hide,
I read all your passions from your eyes,
Watching your revengeful eyes I chide,
My soul feels fresh when I early rise.
Richness or poverty is the state of mind,
As we believe in devils but can’t find.
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