If you think I’m going to believe there’s an afterlife. Well…
I refuse.
If you think I’m going to believe this is anywhere other than Hell,
I refuse.
And if you think by offering, I’m going to tell,
I refuse.
I’m dirty, I’m lonely, I’m hurt and I smell,
I’m refuse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem