Patches of color fall onto the canvas
Acid rain paints the decaying ground,
People chase down there meals
As animals civilize with one another,
Time gets older then he goes and dies
We just stand still and say nothing,
You turn your back to me and leave
I turn myself to you with a loaded gun,
This convex lenses makes your lies miniature
And this concave eyepiece magnifies them,
Oh how wrong this world is to me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem