He swims in pleasure
He drinks in skulls
Yet, chase headless shadow
And many white-goals
In the mid-day sun
With garment of heaven on
He still do dirty chores
And gather a thousand skulls
All for the love of money
Playing the game of cunny
The directive of heavy ritual
He perform in a manner usual
On the frosty ride to affluence
Bays of tears and pretence
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem