My child is a neo-rebel, god fearing man,
My love is another part in another Klan,
My nausea is dead, sharpened and pointed
Drench up the oil, it was meant to anoint.
Baby's head is the size of a splinter,
My elector's lust is nuclear winter,
Size of my heart is deformed and lied,
Only she will ever see me cry.
The funeral was sad, but still I had to see,
What kind of world would do this to me.
Finally I saw what I hold to be right,
That fate never existed and all is just night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem