It started on the Internet,
As every terrible thing would,
Everyone is playing it, whether you know it or not,
It was thought up like only a true troll could
It's 'The Game'
When you think about The Game you lose The Game,
And once someone yells it out loud,
You'll never be the same.
It will annoy you to no end,
It will force a wedge between you and a mate,
Hatred is what you'll feel for someone who is usually called a friend,
What's done is done,
Once it's thought of it's just to late
It's 'The Game'
It causes psychological trauma,
Yeah it's The Game,
It makes your head hurt and your ears burn
And once someone yells it out loud,
You will never be the same.
You know what the worst part is?
It just adds insult to injury,
When you have this ultimately terrible loss,
You have to announce it to me!
Does that suddenly make you feel like a boss?
But just you wait!
Fifteen minutes!
I'll seal your fate!
Fifteen minutes!
I'll yell out,
The Game!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It started on the Internet – so many great ideas, so many sad endings. This craze beyond my own ken and participation (remaining sanity dubious) is crazy or will make you thus. This frenetic write shows the trauma of a participant who has seen the highs (in his head) and sunk to the lows, while knowing that the game is infinite and an inescapable affliction. He demonstrates the power and poverty and has experienced many tours and is lost somewhere in the twilight of winning or losing but is a player of The Game.