“My time is short—what’s left of my life races offtoo fast for me to even glimpse the good.My life is going fast, like a ship under full sail,like an eagle plummeting to its prey.Even if I say, ‘I’ll put all this behind me,I’ll look on the bright side and force a smile,’All these troubles would still be like grit in my gutsince it’s clear you’re not going to let up.The verdict has already been handed down—‘Guilty!’—so what’s the use of protests or appeals?Even if I scrub myself all overand wash myself with the strongest soap I can find,It wouldn’t last—you’d push me into a pigpen, or worse,so nobody could stand me for the stink.