The division is to much.
Burning on the cross, hand on the crutch.
We need to clean this place up.
Tolerance for what?
An exception is not window for all to get in or out.
The ugly business of compromise, why is what we want comes first, not what we actually need.
Approaching a table with three legs indeed.
How could you ever call it balanced if the people aren't even considered in the rule of law.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem