(The victim, played by me,
is trapped in a coma;
He wants to rest in peace,
but no one can hear him...)
Death takes his unpaid leave;
Pain picks up the workload.
I cry out to your God,
but he's got headphones on!
Is there a mercy rule
in this game you call life?
Or do you run up the score
till we lose our fight?
Hooked up to your machines;
You don't want me to die.
Self interest adds up quick;
Burn me down to the wick!
'Vegetables have souls too;
And murder is a sin.
What would the family say?
They'd label us as sick! '
But I'm the one who's sick;
And I don't want to live!
I forfeit; God, you win!
Break me out of prison!
Rewrite fatalism
and take me...take me now!
I'll agree to the change;
God, take off your headphones!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem