one day you will recall the old days we were together,
thinking as it could happen to be even better.
but why should I be ashamed on what my life has brought,
the barrels, the joke, the wonders I had thought.
and again my worthless deeds will all then be clocked,
the quarrels, the fights, on all the things were locked.
should I worry for the passing minutes then,
when I'm not sure where my death is to happen when.
is it not called worthless to stand and fight again,
lets just sit down and enjoy the endless rain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem