I think I wanna be dead wrong or misunderstood,
Not taking my time to get out while the goin's good.
I hope we don't freak out or come unscrewed
When we're finally gonna turn to ashes or worm-food.
If someday in the future the grim reaper is given the ax,
We'll be no more scared to lose the whole ball of wax.
As soon as we rise from the dead, we gonna make tracks,
Beyond the dreamland we would be blissful to the max.
I guess I'm not left out, and God still trusts in me:
He knows all the names of our mutual enemy.
A midnight warrior I am and I always will,
Playing hell with the devil, cuz I'm his buzz-kill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem