ELVIS is dead, the
pope is bought, the
peaple wont be happy,
untill they put some
one eles, on the cross...
THE rain hits the
ground, your foot starts
to slip, the roof caves in,
like a lost sunken ship.
THE carmelite nuns, wash
and feed all the sinners,
and the church does nothing,
but reads, and reads to
them.........
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
beatiful truisms ; -o