I know, with all that is in me
That the first line is whack
But when the yellow duck quacked
From the rat-a-tat attack
I was playing blackjack
Every night, in the city
during the full moon in which it is at its fullest
I dreamt of the man with the little black hat
walking backwards under the porch
With a torch in search of the very thing he lacked
It is funny how logically it seems not all things can be
But what is to be- and what can be- mix, mash, and muddle together in perfect harmony
Further intensifying the dichotomy of possbility
It's not a fact but I'll make a pact
To Rid myself of every lie and wash my hands of my disguise
If only I had one more try. To tell you what I've kept inside
Because all my life I've cried and cried when really I was meant to fly
I thought the only repentence was to ddie
But now I see the price is paid when the gift is given
It's only without the weight of sin we can truly reach the sky
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem