I don’t like a fatal ending for a reason.
Because I’m never getting sick of life.
And I do not like any season
When joyful songs of mine are not alive.

I don’t like bold cynicism for fetters,
I don’t trust some easy passion,
Or when a stranger peeps into my letters;
I find it’s quite an ugly fashion.

I don’t like when there are halfway talks
Or interruptions in the certain places.
I don’t like when someone shoots at folks;
It doesn’t matter, at the backs or faces.

I hate the rumors in the form of versions,
The rotten doubts and the honor’s pin.
The wrong way manners make me feel aversions,
Like screech of iron cutting glass therein.

I don’t like at all cocksure game;
I’m better off with no breaks on track!
Such word as "honor" is forgotten, what a shame!
They honor slander now, all behind one’s back.

The broken wings mean just another loss;
There’s no pity in my heart, it’s clear.
I do like neither weakness no brute force,
And yet, for Christ, the crucified, I have a tear.

I don’t like myself absorbed by fear;
It hurts when innocent are beaten madly.
I don’t like when someone tries to smear
My soul; all the more, my spirit so badly.

I don’t like arenas and manages;
A million is swindled there at once.
Whatever changes lie ahead by any measure,
I’ll never ever like it, not a chance.