The night again descends upon the soul
As we go home, and drink, not to forget,
But for to be ourselves, remind our goal
And say 'I didn't make a devil's bet! '
What good it does? We are again prepared
To face another week, another call
(Not one to arms, but one to help brain-dead
Who ask dumb questions. To hell with them all! ! !)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.