SAMBUCA 2

Limitless 
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ₜₑₗₗ ₘₑ ₙₒₜ, ᵢₙ ₘₒᵤᵣₙfᵤₗ ₙᵤₘbₑᵣₛ,
   ₗᵢfₑ ᵢₛ bᵤₜ ₐₙ ₑₘₚₜy dᵣₑₐₘ!
Fₒᵣ ₜₕₑ ₛₒᵤₗ ᵢₛ dₑₐd ₜₕₐₜ ₛₗᵤₘbₑᵣₛ,
   ₐₙd ₜₕᵢₙgₛ ₐᵣₑ ₙₒₜ wₕₐₜ ₜₕₑy ₛₑₑₘ.

ₗᵢfₑ ᵢₛ ᵣₑₐₗ! ₗᵢfₑ ᵢₛ ₑₐᵣₙₑₛₜ!
   ₐₙd ₜₕₑ gᵣₐᵥₑ ᵢₛ ₙₒₜ ᵢₜₛ gₒₐₗ;
Dᵤₛₜ ₜₕₒᵤ ₐᵣₜ, ₜₒ dᵤₛₜ ᵣₑₜᵤᵣₙₑₛₜ,
   Wₐₛ ₙₒₜ ₛₚₒₖₑₙ ₒf ₜₕₑ ₛₒᵤₗ.

ₙₒₜ ₑₙⱼₒyₘₑₙₜ, ₐₙd ₙₒₜ ₛₒᵣᵣₒw,
   ᵢₛ ₒᵤᵣ dₑₛₜᵢₙₑd ₑₙd ₒᵣ wₐy;
Bᵤₜ ₜₒ ₐcₜ, ₜₕₐₜ ₑₐcₕ ₜₒ₋ₘₒᵣᵣₒw
   Fᵢₙd ᵤₛ fₐᵣₜₕₑᵣ ₜₕₐₙ ₜₒ₋dₐy.

ₐᵣₜ ᵢₛ ₗₒₙg, ₐₙd ₜᵢₘₑ ᵢₛ fₗₑₑₜᵢₙg,
   ₐₙd ₒᵤᵣ ₕₑₐᵣₜₛ, ₜₕₒᵤgₕ ₛₜₒᵤₜ ₐₙd bᵣₐᵥₑ,
ₛₜᵢₗₗ, ₗᵢₖₑ ₘᵤffₗₑd dᵣᵤₘₛ, ₐᵣₑ bₑₐₜᵢₙg
   Fᵤₙₑᵣₐₗ ₘₐᵣcₕₑₛ ₜₒ ₜₕₑ gᵣₐᵥₑ.

ᵢₙ ₜₕₑ wₒᵣₗd’ₛ bᵣₒₐd fᵢₑₗd ₒf bₐₜₜₗₑ,
   ᵢₙ ₜₕₑ bᵢᵥₒᵤₐc ₒf ₗᵢfₑ,
Bₑ ₙₒₜ ₗᵢₖₑ dᵤₘb, dᵣᵢᵥₑₙ cₐₜₜₗₑ!
   Bₑ ₐ ₕₑᵣₒ ᵢₙ ₜₕₑ ₛₜᵣᵢfₑ!

ₜᵣᵤₛₜ ₙₒ Fᵤₜᵤᵣₑ, ₕₒwₑ’ₑᵣ ₚₗₑₐₛₐₙₜ!
   ₗₑₜ ₜₕₑ dₑₐd ₚₐₛₜ bᵤᵣy ᵢₜₛ dₑₐd!
ₐcₜ,— ₐcₜ ᵢₙ ₜₕₑ ₗᵢᵥᵢₙg ₚᵣₑₛₑₙₜ!
   ₕₑₐᵣₜ wᵢₜₕᵢₙ, ₐₙd Gₒd ₒ’ₑᵣₕₑₐd!

ₗᵢᵥₑₛ ₒf gᵣₑₐₜ ₘₑₙ ₐₗₗ ᵣₑₘᵢₙd ᵤₛ
   Wₑ cₐₙ ₘₐₖₑ ₒᵤᵣ ₗᵢᵥₑₛ ₛᵤbₗᵢₘₑ,
ₐₙd, dₑₚₐᵣₜᵢₙg, ₗₑₐᵥₑ bₑₕᵢₙd ᵤₛ
   Fₒₒₜₚᵣᵢₙₜₛ ₒₙ ₜₕₑ ₛₐₙdₛ ₒf ₜᵢₘₑ;

Fₒₒₜₚᵣᵢₙₜₛ, ₜₕₐₜ ₚₑᵣₕₐₚₛ ₐₙₒₜₕₑᵣ,
   ₛₐᵢₗᵢₙg ₒ’ₑᵣ ₗᵢfₑ’ₛ ₛₒₗₑₘₙ ₘₐᵢₙ,
ₐ fₒᵣₗₒᵣₙ ₐₙd ₛₕᵢₚwᵣₑcₖₑd bᵣₒₜₕₑᵣ,
   ₛₑₑᵢₙg, ₛₕₐₗₗ ₜₐₖₑ ₕₑₐᵣₜ ₐgₐᵢₙ.

ₗₑₜ ᵤₛ, ₜₕₑₙ, bₑ ᵤₚ ₐₙd dₒᵢₙg,
   Wᵢₜₕ ₐ ₕₑₐᵣₜ fₒᵣ ₐₙy fₐₜₑ;
ₛₜᵢₗₗ ₐcₕᵢₑᵥᵢₙg, ₛₜᵢₗₗ ₚᵤᵣₛᵤᵢₙg,
   ₗₑₐᵣₙ ₜₒ ₗₐbₒᵣ ₐₙd ₜₒ wₐᵢₜ.

ₕₑₙᵣY WₐDₛWₒᵣₜₕ ₗₒₙGFₑₗₗₒW
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I mean nothing and that means it means nothing to me………………..

SAMBUCA 2

PALMISTRY