What shall you do when you are told there is nothing you can do?
The last of these troublesome thoughts has yet to perish,
It is the souls of destructed youth they relish telling most.
“Ye shall never amount to more than discarded crusts of toast, It is a question of geography, the place you were born all the things that you have known and sworn to be true”.
These are the very things that they should now like to throw back at you.
Yet despite these things the bird still sings for ye are the imperial kings of your words,