Thing 1 was not thirsty,
but I offered him a drink.
He drank till my cup was empty,
and threw me in me to sink.
I struggled back to shore,
you can bet that I was sore,
but Thing 2 grabbed my finger,
and told me his heart was pure.
The river of love is full again,
the river of love is me,
but Thing 2 is still famished,
’cause my cup was smashed at sea.
So tell me, ìyá mi ‘Kojú,
help me make my strength from you.
How do I tell me that Thing 1
is all but nothing like Thing 2?