Good days,
Bad days,
They're all just days.
Torn into little peices.
No point,
No ending,
Just days.
When will the days end?
Taping together the little peices to make our life.
When they're just really good days and bad days.
Days that lead to our death.
But thats the ways lifes taped together.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem