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| The good Jellicles think us blessed with might: |
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| The power to speak without having said noise; |
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| To difference the things of dark and light; |
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| But they do not see us robbed of all joys. |
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| We may tell not what tragic end will come |
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| For the cats we have known to call our friends, |
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| But instead we see that is to be done: |
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| A series of horrible bloody ends. |
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| Our color is dark as is our future. |
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| Our minds twisted and torn in Seers' ways. |
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| Oh, but we want to be normal and pure |
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| And to sever our bloodline in last days. |
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| We do what we can to help their way, |
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| But 'tis all our strength to live through the day. |
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