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Conceit, I would cleanse myself of thee
To find out if untainted truth is easier to see;

Deceit, I shall shun thy tempting lure
In order for my senses to detect a fact that’s pure;

Anger, I must rein that harsh retort
Which manifests in battle, whether mortal or for sport;

Languor, I can crush thy lack of force
By riding forth with passion, regardless of the course;

Neglect, I need never fear the knave
Forsaking everything they love for power that they crave;

Respect, I will vow to always strive
To practice thee on every soul I meet while I’m alive.