Initially things may burn
They may hurt your hand
Clowns everywhere you turn
I guess they play in the band
Endlessly, you are let down
Seemingly, you are crying
Apperantly, not the right town
Obviously, they have been lying
But you can still change
Your hair filled with roses
You are out of range
The external is under their noses
Your heart smells sweetly of lilacs
These people are not you
And almost like the swing of an axe
You take your world back to you
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem