When you ask me 'what line of work are you in now',
and i reply that i don't actually receive a wage,
I wish i could explain but i don't know how,
but I know I'm too young for retirement at my age.
i'm unfit to work, i know it doesn't show,
forgive me if i don't justify my existence,
it's a battle to stop an unhealthy feeling grow,
please don't feed an already guilty conscience.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem