He gets up, plans his day? ?
(He always spends them the same way) .
Goes through the room and rolls a few,
'Cause nothing else he's going to do,
But sit in front of the T.V. set,
Smoking a marijuana cigarette,
And when he's stoned right out his head,
He's carted off back to his bed.
Tomorrow he'll be back, as usual,
As I've said, this is his ritual.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sounds like a great waste of life to me, on the other hand the poem is great.