I have the existentialist's crisis
Without the courage to accept
The responsibility of my death
So I have tied a long rope to my neck
And the end of the rope to a young tree
Which I have planted and watered
With my own hands and free will
Waiting for it to grow tall and strong
To hold my body like a flag
Of a lazy timid existentialist
Who can only bear to read
Franz Kafka and Sadegh Hedayat
But not able to bear the smell of gas.
Please, throw an apple to my back!
