What is west,
we are not there
with you,
what is west
or best of all,
for everybody,
not west,
surely,
East of here
somewhere else,
are we westernised,
scrutenised,
detested for God death?
perhaps,
and all the bullets
and bombs from todays
hell will spill us, out,
I don't think it's
got anything to do
with him though,
No,
this is about
bread, bread, bread,
lots of stinking
desolate bread,
lining the couldn't
care less pockets,
of a faceless crew,
dead of everything!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dead of everything west makes this wonderful really.