Thy songs oh throng,
Scattered as litters on the floor:
Thy message without language,
Shattered by the wind, faint and poor.
Thy voice, thy choice
Of words is slaughtered by impediments;
Thou nurse audible noise,
Often heard but stirs sour sentiments.
Thy picture and structure
I can’t figure out by nature,
But I’ve got a conviction that’s strong
-You sing a sincere song oh throng