You're going down Blind Mans Lane
Don't think it's by any mistake
Can't see the nails and broken glass
When you get that flat
You'll have to change that tire you're riding on
Don't think it's a bit of bad luck
Son
As many before you
This lane is named after you
It's a place we all go
I can talk til my anger has to run
No need to hurt you by repeating myself
We don't know
Til we are put to a stop
There ain't no going on
Til you change that tire you're riding on
That's what happens
When you ride down Blind Mans Lane
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem