I am a mansion!

I am a mansion!
The manifesto of labor!
I am poor, have no luxury passion.
And there is no watches or table.

The fireplace doesn't burn.
But how it burned, how it burned!
And how does it turn?
My walls do not warm the bodies,

And human hearts either.
Someone could be happy about it,
But i feel another
thing,
Although it amuses a little.

I thought about it for fun.
It's not all good with me, I guess?
Funny! If they want to, friends will come!
But they don't come.

Yes, and it doesn't hurt,
I feel no depression.
I am neither in the pride, nor in the herd,
I am a mansion!

Yes, what else!
I'm a masterpiece
Made by man with hammer and a pickaxe
He built me without a crown, or necklace.

There is a pain I cant hide,
As soon as I look at these girlish faces.
But I'm losing my mind,
Then the floorboard creaks.

Yes, I am poor!
I'm poor on the outside,
The wall is ill,
And few people need it for real

From arrow to arrow,
From spring to spring,
From rotting to whitewashing,
Until the return of whiteness.

But you're coming out of a stinking street,
From noisy bars,
And here I am!
And you don't drink or smoke,
You walk around, and walk, and walk...

And you're waiting for something,
And you look into the cold blue windows, And you want me to pay attention,
And I just sit, clutching the fiber reinforcement in my fist.
I am a mansion!