What happened to my feathers?
I’m chained, torn in fetters
Once again, that wish denied
My humble wish to fly
Cry, mother, cry
Your son took the wrong path
The only math he’s ever done
Was in calculating dosages
A wide array of damages done to his brain
Can you tell if he’s high, or is he insane?
But he has a passion inside him, that burns like a flame
Being the beast he is, he can never be tamed
It’s his fashion, to capture his claim
Drugs, art, and purgatory
Do you want to hear his story?
He wants joy, pleasure, it can never be attained
Only one brick on the wall, a tightening of his chains
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem