the way things are going down
and for so many people standing around
i must admit that this will be my final ground
no more standing in the light
no more joining in the fights
that this day will be the last that i will see till tonight
Given the gift of death
Given the gift of feeling sorrow
this will be my final morrow
the memories are forgotten
the good and the bad
it all started when i started feeling sad
the drugs
the alcohol
the tearing scars
looking like i just came out of a bar
that past, so far away
but these feelings are now
and i sit here with this frown
so lost
so confused
i scream because of my short fuse
i pick my guitar up, so out of tune
i cry
i scream
i wanna die
though i seem to redeem
my life
my sorrow
this will be my final morrow
i say good bye
i say sleep,
though if i wake
... shall be bullet
... shall be stabbed
you will never have to feel my wicked wrath
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem