We had one for the road
And could hardly drive
Crashed into a cement wall
Thought it was a joyride
Trashed and bleeding
He lay there
Until the cops arrived
'The son of the gun is
Dead as a doornail'
Was the last he heard
Before his soul flitted
Up and away
Into the heaven above
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem