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𝙴𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚛í𝚊 𝚞𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚊.
𝙼𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚗 𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝í𝚗 𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚘𝚜 𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚣𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚓𝚘 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚜.
𝙴𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚙á𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚜, 𝚕𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚣𝚌𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚊 𝚖á𝚜 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚊.
𝙽𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚟𝚊𝚛, 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊.
𝙽𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜;
𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚛á 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚒ó𝚗 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚎
𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚊𝚓𝚎𝚗𝚊
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