Alarm bells clanging, the shattering of glass
Poverty stricken, the gall of your class.
Go grab the bootey, exchange it for cash,
Your habit needs feeding so give it the hash.
Squat in some alley, you're dancing on air
Never a thought to what brought you there.
'Tripping' on out no troubles or cares,
'Til coming-down time' - the real nightmare.
Fight off insanity, ignore the heed
Lay waste those spectres by giving them feed
Crack up the arm, then 'speed' with a weed
Happy delirium, its' want now your need.
Unwanted panic and jitters big-style,
Half choke to death on vomit and bile
Steady that needle to find one more aisle,
Poppy day magic - the art of beguile.
Squalid and dank, no home through the years,
Nought can abate them all rueful tears.
No love, no kin to help ease those fears,
You sent them away, all callous, in jeers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem