Vent

ᴵ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵍᵒ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵉᵉᵖ ᵉⁿᵈ
ᴵ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵏᶦˡˡ ᵃˡˡ ᵐʸ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ᶠʳᶦᵉⁿᵈˢ
ᴵ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷ ˢᵗʸˡᶦˢʰ ᵗʳᵉⁿᵈˢ
ᴬⁿᵈ ᴳᵒᵈ ᵏⁿᵒʷˢ ᴵ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵃᵐᵉⁿᵈˢ
ᴮᵘᵗ ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵃⁿ ᵃⁿᵍʳʸ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗ
ᶠᶦˡˡᵉᵈ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᶜᵃⁿᶜᵉʳˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵒᵖᵖʸ ᵗᵃʳᵗˢ
ᴵᶠ ᵗʰᶦˢ ᶦˢ ʰᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵒˡᵏˢ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵃʳᵗ ᶦᵗ'ˢ ᶠᵘᶜᵏᶦⁿᵍ ᵈᵉᵖʳᵉˢˢᶦⁿᵍ

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