"Better wisdom in sorrow than joy in delusion."
— Epicurus


Bitter the fate for the minds that are bright,
Living with fools under devils’ dark might.
No room for talent, no call for their fire,
Save for the rare, steadfast giants that inspire.

Yet even their works are twisted and torn,
Ripped from their context, to evil reborn.
Few of the mighty remain undefiled,
Resisting commands of the crooked and vile.

Lies and deception consume every age,
Fear chains the wise in an endless cage.
Degradation spreads under genocide’s veil,
Where ghouls mock the brilliant, frail without fail.

No justice awaits for the monsters who reign,
Their cruelty unchecked, their malice profane.
Thus, what we inherit from their abyss,
Is a world obscene, devoid of bliss.



In Russian:

Простой отстой

"Лучше с разумом быть несчастным, чем без разума — счастливым".
Эпикур.


Горькая доля разумных людей
В мире глупцов, что под игом чертей:
Нет применения сил и талантов,
За исключением редких Гигантов.

Но сатанизм их труды искажает,
Вырвав с контекста, во Зло применяет.
Редкий из редких дерьмом не обмазан,
Не исполняя уродов приказы

Иль "пожелания" в тоне веленья.
В страхе, в обманах здесь все поколенья.
Путь деградации под геноцидом:
Умных третируют твари и гниды

Как захотят и без всяких последствий.
А потому получили в наследство
Мало трудов ДО ПРЕДЕЛА ДОСТОЙНЫХ
В Аде продажном, убогом, отстойном.

To the person, I once loved, but cheated.

Sorry that it had to be you,
and sorry you found it this way.
Hurt you and brought tears time to time,
and will pay the fine with this life.

Wasn't lust that caught me in her web,
a thin line of friendship and love faded,
felt seen, heard, touched and understood,
'twas something new and I craved more.

Couldn't break the news and your heart,
so, kept it hidden, loving you the same.
Thought you couldn't live without me, and,
forgetting her would be easy, both wrong.

Being asked and forced to stop loving her,
pushed me deep into the well of her love.
A side of you I'd never seen revealed,
pulling me farther away from all of you.

Said you loved, and couldn't let go,
but made the air harder to breathe for me,
realized I had no way to out of the tangle,
decided to end it with a knot on the rope.

What sort of chance
does a kid have
when generations before him
follow him all the days of his life
training him in the ways of unhappiness?
Expect the worst my friends
and get it but, survive
Expect the best
but, get the worst
and you die