Ишшо моё творенье.
Hey, you,
One who's lost yuor way,
Hey, are you ready
To have a big day?
Then go to the City
Lost in the black forest
Or maybe gray,
Forgot, to be honest.
There you will find
The shadowy crowd
People alone screamin' so loud
Knowin' that City's preparin' to grind
Not their bodies...
Much worse-your mind
Is poisoned. No remedies.
City is kind.
Your soul is just
An object to kill
Buirn it into dust
Let out a shrill
And throw it away.
When some days will pass
Even from that shit
Will grow green new grass.
You are not alone
So many, like you
Are already gone.
But don't be so blue.
You are not like great
Sinners once lived
14/88
and millions killed...
There were many souls
lot blacker than yours
They were never touched
By the hand of remorse.
So rest now, creation
Of this twisted time.
There must be salvation,
But for that-it's own time.