There's no rhyme or reason.
There's no other season,
You're living a lie to survive.
There's no kiss like death.
No great sin to detest,
And hatred's the reason to die.
There's no touch or feeling.
There's no crime like killing,
And taking the drugs will bring lust.
So what does it matter,
When hearts have been shattered,
And lies are from people we trust?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem