Oh sinner! ! !
You can run but, you cannot hide;
Sold, soldier!
Sold to war before your death;
To the battle field,
Where you are about to meet your death.
Sold, soldier!
With the muse of your mind;
With a uniform on,
And, with a gun in your hand;
You are sold to death! !
Programmed with the muse of hatred.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem