He walks like rap stars.
They say, he never touches those sour-sheeben litres.
He only loved the marathon.
He never breaks his lover’s thorn.
In him, I see the is still a future to be born.

He dances like kid on his birthday
He never holds bad days
While doing sabbatical prophets.
Chewing his gum and fruits
He can still kick and teach with his right foot
I thought inside “He must be our mentor”
Our generation is led by the soulful murder.
Our new generation must be prepared early.
Neither must they be a nurse by nannies.
Honoured must be given those who pass century
It’s an honour
It’s an honour
It’s an honour
His life must be made as part of our life skills.
Taking his right moment, not one that can kill.
It’s double to our generation.