I have my shreds of conscience,
I live to seek and then soothe hearts;
Yet my quest is not of underrated prey:
No, indeed, I challenge my ears to do all parts;
And so I'm quiet, yet I hear each word.

There is no mask which could wholly cover
The shreds of truth I keep inside so well;
No, indeed, I am but too defensive -
Yet one knows not of me,
So how could one tell?

I've met with fear of solitude, which I never understood;
I've met with people that had no rights at all;
Yet, if I am not mistaken, all were of one kind;
Fear is a state, not a right, and this they all knew.

Still, I have yet to find one distant;
and charming, peculiar, and when I have,
I'll pray that he comes to my aid at once.
And I'll try my best to have him assured
That he isn't quiet and hears no word.