Every bit of nasty lust
Every moment of doubtful trust
Everything occasionally unimpressive
Every believe breathing oppressive
Living in my identity
Conspiring for my dying soul
Brewing up in me a pitiless foul
Now I could move and move
Yelling up with a demon's groove
Representing a cold ambition of mine
truly not what is mine
Eating up my soul
Making me run away from my goal
God, slowly chanced upon me when I was alone
Wreaking havoc on me not by stick or stone
HE knew I was a man inside, he taught me his way
HE sang his song and played his music the best he could play
until my soul could find itself in full display
God would then say Music Kills this way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem