So tired of living, so tired and blue,
all I can see is dismal and dew.
The body is ready, and willing to go, 'Who
cares? ' is the answer, again and again, 'just
another passing', it's muttered in the end.
We'll all meet 'The Reaper', that's how it ends.
'So sad! 'and stunned I uttered, 'No one does care! ! !
This life's a bunch of heartaches, misery, and toil,
many times spewed forth to cover up the 'lies
in disguise'-to keep us placid 'til 'The Fateful Hour' arrives.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem