I don’t like a fatal end of any seizure, Life never tires me, I am an honest bloke. I never like a day, a week, a season, - When I am sick, or in a heavy soak. I hate when cynics are among my so called “betters”, I hate exaltedness, nor do I like the cheek When others try to read my private letters, Over my shoulder peeking in the sneak. I do not like to leave things uncompleted, A conversation, when it is not frank, I hate to see someone shoot those defeated, No matter in the back or at point-blank. I gossips hate, though dressed as mere assumptions, Hate being in doubt, or lured into a morass, Or brushed against my grain with certain gumptions, Or hearing steel being scratched on a glass. I hate to see people insolently trodden, I would rather suffer if my breaks do fail, I hate that HONOUR ‘s long ago forgotten And honouring backstabbing does prevail. When I see broken wings I feel no pity, I would hate to get involved in à heist. For me no violence, nor helplessness is pretty, And horrible it was to crucify Christ. I hate when people are undeservedly beaten, Or forced by scare to lose their self-control, Or when someone into my soul is spitting, Or merely try to poke into my soul. I don’t like any fighting rinks or ranges, Where for a pence they promise you a quid. Let optimists expect forthcoming changes, - What I now see, I don’t like, God forbid!
© ?. Translation, 2014