drunken poem

the sky is fucking blue, so i cry
the beggar is stinking, so i sit next to him
the valley is not so happy, so i drink
the mountain is not so high, so i am higher
the prostitute is not so vulgar, so she is hungry
my wife hates me so i love her
my children scold me, so i watch them after they sleep
my roof is torn, so i keep awake all night
my days are gone, so i remember them
my mother used to love me, so i get her picture on my wall
my father bought me drinks, so i still remember him
my guitar used to be a machine, so my hands were chopped
my voice were "sweet like crow", so they threw out
my poems were rubbish, so they burnt it
my hands were like hammer, so they nailed it
my friend was killed, so they whispered in my ears
the river was blood, so i bled to see anything left in me
the man was armed, so i had to bite him
the birds were spies, so i were the gown
the priest was judas, so i crucified him under my bed
the politician was obsessed with sex, so i chopped his thing
his wife was in love with me, so i used my spear
the police was aggressive, so i snatched his bullets not gun
my soldier was dead, so i cried with my swelling eyes
i was shot , so i am limping
i was drunk, so i am now