If I say it again, then I won't.
Gosh is it like that, when it hurts?
And god sees what you do to me late at night.
You know by now, why children cry.
I keep saying it over and over,
but you and you don't hear.
Gosh that hurts it cuts like the knife,
that I fear.
I said to God, why do I cry so soft?
Does he have ears like mine?
Can he see?
When by his lips, do I hear?
Why do I want all of those tears?
There is no one there on the telephone.
Can you even now in your head, kind of hear?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem