I donít like predestined results,
That is why I do not sing of them
I donít like any time of the year
When I drink or when I am ailing.
I donít like that open cynicism,
Exaltations and such,
Also, when someone reads my letters
Looking over my back.
I donít like this talk in whispers indirectly
Or when conversations suddenly come to a halt,
I donít like to be shot in the back,
Nor do I look forward to be shot at point blank.
I donít like it when I am frightened.
I am annoyed when people are being hurt without cause
I donít like it when they get into my soul,
Moreover, when they spit all over it.
I hate those gossips and their stories
The worms of doubt, the sting of honor.
Always against the grain
They are cutting glass with iron and not a diamond.
I do not like smug satisfaction,
Better let it all get out of control...
I am mad when the word "honour" is forgotten
And that slander has replaced it behind my back.
When I see broken wings,
I feel no compassion and no wonder,
I despise both violence and helplessness
And that is why I do not pity the meekness of a crucified Christ.
I donít like stadium and areas
Where millions are spent for trifles
Let there be great changes ahead!
That I will never like.