even if there's no-one there
deep in the darkest dreams
at the end of each kaleidoscope
the drowned-out horses' screams
coated in a sugar-glaze
bolted and insane
who's fingers spin the spinning-top
spitting fire and flame
who's crazy at the Wurlitzer
who still calls it a ride
the spinning faces circle
there's nowhere left to hide
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem