Ghosts smell of kittens as they are dragons,
Industrial fiends that taste to the public;
Inexcusable crimes are spoken and written
From the jarring of the supreme justice.
Lets be judged, lets affirm their pride of gold
And freaky substances making roil in humans.
Oatmeal is industry, owning us and making us breakfast,
But they supply quicksand and the notebooks.
Many pails of water lock teens in water,
Quiet rainstorms hope further and let pancakes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem