Rolling in with an overwhelming form
All touch is lost in this crowd I'm alone
I have it all, yet I am greedy
In some form or another of being needy
Somewhere in between Bangkok and Phuket
I've lost my own tactile pull-over jacket
It's been quite some time now, and it's grown old
The ones all around me are numb, and I'm cold
With half a chance I'd sever my rivals' hands
Damage it good for renewing my plans
To vaporize this cloudy mist
And reclaim my feeling to check off the list
But it keeps rolling in with an overwhelming form
All touch is lost in this crowd all alone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem