Wedding bells are ringing
In the chapel below the town
He’s hiding in the bushes
With a satchel in his hand
Somewhere the bride is crying
Mascara running down her cheeks
(The one day she wore makeup)
And staining the pure white gown
Her insufferable mother spent a very long time stitching
The priest is looking angry,
Checking at the watch he bought himself.
There’s been so much wasted time
That the bride can hardly stand up,
While I’m running for state lines.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem