I live in a world of fantasy that does not exist;
Where time has stopped, and the grim reaper is no skipper.
The dwellers from the faraway stars are on the guest list,
The mountains are higher here, and the oceans deeper.
No holy wars are fought, no innocent blood is spilled;
An advanced spirit level has led to utter perfection,
And each one acquiring the seventh sense is with bliss filled,
Capable of animating the bizarre figments of his imagination.
A little angel was here on a flying visit, broke into tears
And said, ''Something 's wrong in here, it's a terrible lie.
The absence of a halo around your heads confirmed my fears
That you don't live what you are. Time's up. I've got to fly.''
And I wished I was back to earth, in a pub to slam some beers.
In a flash I found myself in London. I really did it! No lie!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem