I am tired of suffering that is not mine.
I am not on the ground that is not mine.
I have lived with a name that is not mine
I have cried because of pain that is not mine.
Waiting for the bitter taste of McDonalds
Behind fast food jars in line
Under the Open Valve of Total Oil Company
On the Porsche wheels on my floor
Dried up by the power of your Rolex
Happy with the joy of X-Two pills
The snow under the ski stick in my stomach
Im going to melt, shame on you.
Wet rats tired of the agony of the jobs
I love the good things.....
A torn padoi under Borsams feet
With the sky in your misery, you are my seat
Recorded in the contradiction of our run
The grave of the ancestor of our words is our message
Im tired of suffering that isnt mine.
I am sitting on a soil that is not mine.
I have lived with a name that is not mine.
I have cried for pain that is not mine.
In the war under the wheels of tanks
In times of peace, bank loans are drowning
Small money at the bottom of the pockets
A crumpled check in the hands of the nobles
The profits of my business and the pulse of my home work
The most marginal neighborhood of my nest
Im going to hang at five in the morning.
I will be crushed with Baluch and Lor.
Turkic Turk Tark from his mother tongue
A Salt Urmia to the Azeri Wound
Blood and veins under your white skin
The grave of the ancestor of your promises and promises
Im tired of suffering that isnt mine.
I am sitting on a soil that is not mine.
I have lived with a name that is not mine.
I have cried for pain that is not mine.
Sent by Amir Mohammad Hajiabadi
