Mellon's you check before you bite them
unless the bytes are free.
Fleeing the bank the politician one of many
lost their hands.
Without hands why would they need pockets
yet they have more pockets than ever
invisable ink used on U.S. no one
sees I'm not blind I just blinked
and it was gone.
Labor is for the weary I'm to tired to stand
shaking hands to drive the street
meatless bones.
I love a good lie one I believe in one I will
die for one I care for wheres the door
I'm to poor to taste the salt
that kills me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem