People shuffle in the streets,
As the rain beats down to the ground,
People walking in their own filth,
Which makes them almost as dirty as their lies,
We try and scrub away the filth by doing good,
Trying to make up for the past,
Trying to repaint our souls,
But the old paint keeps bleeding through the new,
And we can try and lie some more and say the jokes on you,
But we all know thats not the truth,
That the jokes is on me and not you,
In a world ware we can turn a blind eye,
Where you and I both know,
Oh how much we know
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem