Lend me your ears my frantic sweltering bodies!

A progeny of French arsenal and German blood,

Dancer and soon to be noble teacher,

One of many glorious souls from the sparkling south.

Hoorah!

You will not soon forget the lip-streams of Anastasia’s instruction.

All you quivering, sacks of impotent coy-bags,

For once shall burn with a passion,

At last the satisfaction of fulfillment. I, Anastasia of the eccentric class,

Like you born and raised in an environment of exceptional humidity,

On the endless shores of the saltiest of salty, sweltering, spawning whale roads.

Dreamers need not dream of their castle in the sea-steed – but ask upon me.

As I frolic in my zany tradition,

Through a timeless earth-stepping adventure,

I overlay passed countless swan-roads

And nations spewing with strange and wonderful creatures,

Leaving from place to place my mark of an abundance of absurd allemande can-can.

I have met many diverse races of inadequate beings,

Their lives amounting to nothing more than a spear-din.

While the training unfolded,

All I could perceive were moons of the foreheads blinded by the philosophy of the Changing times.

The incapable fellows did not halt my belief of pedagogy knowledge,

Of the cavort courant into the battle-sweat of the chilling chaps.

Your brave bold narrator, tis I, did not falter,

Even when some children resembled raven harvest sitting underneath the sky’s candle,

They stood still waiting on the dawn of death to dance!

Here here!

In the end don’t worry or concern,

Verbalisms can only carry us so far.

Just come together and strike a tune,

We will dance our hardships away,

If not – Tis doom!