When a tyrant has completed his catalogue of hate Sent thousands to the noose and millions to the pyre He ponders fresh murders as he sits up late Whom else can he summon to his satanic fire?
There is agony in his soul – someone must pay Those scribblers of verse – now there is treason Another list, a list, without delay! Poets to the Lubyanka – I need no reason!
I listen, I hear my night-whispering muse: “Death is upon you, death, but first, but first…