If you could shed a tear
For things past and present
You'd feel better to lead away fear
From lives that resent
Your dissent, your will to soldier on
In the face of rat race
That grows in rows of stubborn
Obstination and frustration that trace
Origins in pins and needles
That your heart they prick
While your idle fiddles
Play loony tunes that sick
Minds find blind in a kind
Of memory you'd best bury deep
In a grave where lemon rind
Crushes events whose dates you'll never again keep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem