The chimneys have held
The smoke for themselves,
The gutters have withheld
The molten ice from soil,
The bull won't release its
Cowpat to be used by our women,
The fearsome serpent eats
The hiss meant for horror,
The female cow won't be
Milked with no fetters on,
The sodbuster won't free
The hay that's meant for beasts,
What beasts save these?
Which are worth no penny-
Save the pale one we diss,
It was Mr Dillinger the fifth,
Who foresaw how grim
The coming times would be,
But we wouldn't take note
Of anything that broke through
The simpering of this goat,
He knew exactly how to woo
Our curious women, alright!
"Dillinger the suave, a taboo
In the faces of our grannies, "
Worms now eat his bones
But we see so heavy his prophecies
Of the times we are in;
Nothing will release anything.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem