The world is a place of imagination,
a place where all is real,
but at the same time fake.
It's all in your head, when you're dead, you're alive and well again.
When you kill us, you're doing us a favor,
for making us die for the lies we used to savor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very good poem Mr. David. I like the way you can make pages of thought into just a few lines. You should take a look at some of my poetry.