American, be blessed! May many lords shed their blessings upon thy fair soul! My love for you can only be overcome by my desire for unification, I want thee as much as a soul may want a body, and a spirit, its spiritual abode. Oh, America, oh, the beautiful! Dost thou love me, fair lady? Am I a knight enough, fairly beloved? Would thy wed me now? My heart beats faster at the imagining of such rupture! Goodness! If only I was worthy of your love, thy fair brow adorned with jeweles and pearls and silver and gold! Fair maiden, dost thou desire a sweet, or perhaps, a fruit? How may I serve thee, lady, tell me, so that Emin may live and we may procreate and continue and have many babies for the good of many hairs and a lot and like oh mu god! Maiden! Dost thou runnest from me? Such shame! Such unforgivable unpardonable failure on my part! How did I wrong thee? Why, oh why do you turn your fair face away from me in shame? I am shamed.
I stand ashamed.
I will never leave my brow and will toil the land for the rest of my days, in the sweet of my brow.
I lya me down to sleep and cry myself to rest. I loved her! How could she! Such pain. Such deprivation. Such unbelievable cheating!
Oh, beloved, do not turn thy fair face from my ugly and unseemly posture, my ugly and unbecoming shape. Oh. Oh. Oh.
I die, Horatio.
Fair Horatio. I die.
