Walking through the streets of
Might, a glorious feeling overcomes
The pale moonlight... the feeling
Of a thousand newborn sons...
Juergen is feisty,
Juergen is cooking,
Watch him walk down High Street,
With two of his women.
He lusts longingly, snapping at
Their bare necks, overcome by
Great grief, leaves them for his
Favourite, sitting on her own.
But a phonecall I receive,
And to Pub I go -
Lurking in the streets with
Friends of a philosophical joke...
Another weekend,
Another curry...
Raj compliments the breasts
Of a schoolgirl, we cheer.
Speeches are made,
Sexualities claimed,
And the talk of Shep's nipple
Incites me to tipple...
And then walking out,
Alone suddenly.
I go to a bar, meet many
Men, and women, and
Some of them are
Together.
Drunk, I walk home,
After urinating on a car.
Decadence grows where the dead groan.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this ere poem sounds liike a right hootananny y'all