Shall it be a merry feast, or a marital melee?
If the nocturnal misfits met their epithet parents
Barging from antiquity whilst carousing for a parley
In the chic urban backstreets for usurping descendants
Will the welcome mat be laid or the call to arms be sewn
Hanging in the backroom of the London Dungeon
Where melancholy teens watch their Bacchus lairs get blown
By the belligerent nomads cruising for a bludgeon
Now cue the awkward stairs and lethargic mass-applauds
As the cultural dimorphism builds up a static charge
The poor Teutonic’s twitch to the histrionic songs
Whiles their adolescence ringers gag to the putrid Smells
Its postromantic libertines versus plague ridden pagans
Should the dread of existence encroach an empty stomach?
And boredom impede the imminent threat of total famine
Within this cold era of egoistic existential drama
Let the Black dressed disciples with their new order bibles
Can get well acquainted with cut throating robbers
To fulfill their long dreams of the opulent gallows
As the medieval heavens can bask in the comforts of a shower
So throw down the gauntlet to the worthy nomads
And lay down the torch to the ancestors knees
Let teen angst up against medieval bandits
And the Goth meet the Goth in the one way defeat
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
in the one way defeat, good writing.