DRYS: 打油诗一首

DRYS, buy, buy!

Always going down,

Not high.

Holders of DRYS,

like an ant, 

on the hot fryer.

Dream on DRAYS,

going to fly, 

but until your tears dry.

DRYS can go to high,

before you smile,

still making you to cry.  

Before it die,

sweep your tears,

don't cry,

run away and say good bye.

When you left DRYS,

it would be back to fly.

Not be too sad, 

the spring may just come by。

and jump high!