Black still of the winter night,
Numb chill of the cloudy daylight,
Phony smiles on our battered faces.
We look like one of those closet cases.
Neither friends, nor enemies;
Our hearts need new batteries.
Naked and helpless, mixed up and caged:
This is how we're meeting our death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem