Beneath the great street of nightfall
Benches brag, thugs of nightfall
Hampered with street hooligans
Could she survive the seasonal business?
What a day of joyful sorrow
A moment of indecision says mama put
Destitute but drags of death oh!
Yesterday, she died in yankee along the corners of brothels
Crumble with men from canakry
Millions from pools of merchanders
Humble stewards pay their shame
Hunger was satisfied with coins
Yesterday, they ate her up in grave
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem