The hallways of yesterday
The corridors of tomorrow
The red door to the back alley
The front door to the yarrow
Isn't like I don't know this place
I've got every inch known
I recognize all 'bout its face
And 'bout what wasn't shown
And everyone 'round
Cute girls and gentlemen
Every view, every sound
Every syn, every amen
But I ain't quite fitting
All I must do is lurk
Control myself when thinking
That I'm at mama's work
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem