It's so hard to make poems about the end,
and make the end our best friend,
Obviously, it doesn't plan
Easily, we don't believe that it must be insane.
The end is coming so fast,
and so, we have to enjoy the rest,
listening to jazz, which is being played in the West,
and at last, my stress was the guest
Like a bird which can fly away,
my way 'play' as the end pay,
Run away n' say: ok!
It's the way that the end come and stay
Do it over to don't forget
cuz my words may be fat,
as my pride, as when I bet,
as the little seven lives of a cat.
Against and again wrote a man,
made by a strong pain and his pen,
spending the felling in his vein at ten,
all the end in vain if we are not prepared to be men.