darkness larks around the corners
the road wineding and cracked
no matter how hard i plead i 
 feel like i just got sacked
no matter how straight the gate 
no matter how certain my fate
the darkness always larks hand 
in hand with the swamps that mirk 
the plan i've hold of.
no matter how tortured the scroll 
im the master of my soul.
the door will not open
the floor will not fall
not with out the hand to end it all.
my hand is the one that will make it stop
it may not be the one of a cop
but its the one without the plead of any need
i will make it end i'll send it off never to return
never will it fall in the graps of any urn                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    