Lost was peace and sense of mind,
Lost was reason and moral binds.
Lost was strength, the will to grind,
A yearning soul fled, only a shell confined,
The haunting weight of wounds left behind.

Amidst the chaos in daily life,
The silent soul remained amidst the rife.
It spoke nothing, just listened to others,
Bearing their pain as though it were its own burdens.

A heart that aches, a mind that roams,
A soul that yearns for untamed homes.
In silent wars, they break apart,
Yet still reach out to heal each heart.

Still edging along
A tightrope, but now knowing
There's a safety net

To perish, to vanish
In fear and false treason.
The sheeps bear the savage,
Their minds plagued with poison.

Through the brain — a vile flood,
A foul stench left to linger.
The herd writhes in the mud,
Dragged down by its wringers.


In Russian:

Всемирный Загон

"Уничтожиться, канув
В этот омут безликий,
Прямо в одурь диванов,
В полосатые тики!.."
Иннокентий Анненский, "Тоска вокзала", 1910 г.


Уничтожиться, канув
В ложь и страх под фашизмом.
ТВАРЕЙ терпят бараны:
СМРАДы ставят им клизмы

Прямо в мозг — остаётся
Лишь вонючая жижа.
Стадо мучится, гнётся:
Весь Загон гаже, ниже.