We are the sons and daughters
Of the dead and the dying
We are the Casanova of religion
Masturbating our thoughts with salvation
We are the confused who dug themselves a home
Beneath the textbooks and lore
Oh please don’t rain on me mister god!
Is it a terrible time to be young?
Everything seems to grow up so fast but us
Playing under the canopy of city lights
These sands betray my feet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem