They say that blind men hear the falling snow
and smell the pheromones of puberty,
there is a wonderful and lasting glow
beneath the eyes of those with an infirmity.
They say that lies are pleas of last resort,
and that a thief will never kill a man,
but that no judges who preside in any court
would jump at the suggestion of a plan
that smells of gold and silver, precious stones,
to break the law that they are to uphold.
They'd blimk just once, then go and crack some bones,
thus every soul endeavours 'to be sold'.
What happened to integrity my friends,
and has it now made room for something better?
Is it just me who's having trouble with new trends
and is it you who follows rules down to the letter?
I have the answer, it was plain to see,
it was too long ago, some fifty years.
A burst balloon, once named humanity,
since then all honesty has left our tears.
So, what to do my fellow crooks, you tell
are we enjoying our rapid journey.
The time will come when you don't feel too well,
when shared dishonesty will crowd your gurney.
It will be late that day, the sun will urge
that we be done away with, so, post-haste,
and only prayer may prevent the purge,
by hand of bureaucrats with lousy taste.
We have a chance, of course to do our part,
the love of money, though, stands in the way.
You could hold hands with me, just for a start.
God does not mind when twenty fingers pray.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem