Правота стада

Правота стада

В молчаньи истина откроется?
Как бы не так! Вперёд, Бардак!
Эй, недоумки, быстро строиться —
Колоть шмурдяк. И для атак...




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The Herd’s Truth

Will silence bring the truth to light?
Not a chance! Come, Chaos, fight!
Hey, you dimwits, fall in line —
Grab your brew, it’s battle time!



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The World of Filth and Its Negative Selection

Awareness of slavery —
The first step from this Mire.
Tyranny dulls the bravery,
Crushes almost all fire.

With a mob of fools to guide,
It's easy to command.
By selecting those who lie,
And slaughter by their hand.

Ugliness rules the councils,
Brutes in power prevail.
Few noble souls hold balances,
In any sphere, they fail.

This thinning line of virtue,
Pressed by lies and decay,
Fades under devil's virtue,
As darkness takes the day.

Generations, deformed,
Fall as beasts, step by step.
The rot deepens, transformed —
What remains but regret?

Once you see, don’t enable
Schemes of beasts; make a stand.
Block their lies, if you’re able,
Keep your Spirit at hand.

Soulless beasts and their masses,
Caught in deceitful tides,
Will perish as time passes,
When catastrophe strikes.

And this reckoning’s nearing,
No, it’s already here.
No need for corpses leering,
Unburied graves draw near.

Let the dead fill the earth’s maw,
But the Spirit takes flight.
Gather strength for this last law,
If you're still in the Light.

Renew your Soul through vision,
Let it guide your ascent.
Break away indecision,
Cut loose what’s hell-bent.

Sever ties with the ballast,
Prepare wings to unfold.
For today marks the malice —
And their doom lies foretold.



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Propagandists and the Hollow Crowd

Boldly we will spread deception,
Sold our souls at youth’s inception.
Those with honor never dare
Turn the crowd to fools... or snare?



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Puppet Regimes of Tiny Banana Pseudo-States

The broth is thin, the stakes are low,
The bottom’s near, and off we go.
Wax your skis, prepare to slide —
The abyss waits on every side.

But here’s the catch: the tale's the same
In bigger lands with grander names.
The broth turns sour, the rot sets in,
Most drink despair, a bitter sin.

Few will rise, resist the game,
In this grotesque world of shame.



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The Brainwashed

They march ahead, the creatures’ creed,
Disguised as kindness, pure deceit.
Corrupting hearts, they sow the seed
Of lies beneath deception’s sheet.

A chosen few see through the haze,
This shallow world, both cruel and grim.
But scorn is heaped on those who gaze,
For Satan reigns as idol dim.

Yet veiled it lies in honeyed guise,
A mix of nonsense, vile and grim.
The devil’s rule grows bold, defies —
Thus spreads fascism’s vicious hymn.

Reject the lies, forge thoughts anew,
Though stress may rise, stand firm, confess.
By doing so, you’ll save the true
And fragile soul of weightless press.

Six grams they claim, by falsehoods bound,
Yet Reason knows it holds the All.
Forsake the crowd, its wailing sound —
Find your own path, and heed the call.



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True Love

A man and woman lose their way,
Obsessed with bonds that lead astray.
They shrink their lives to just one frame,
Destroying essence, fanning flames.

The truth is clear, though oft ignored:
Love's not just lust, it holds much more.
For generations, blind, they stray,
And strengthen beasts who rule the day.

If love were true, if hearts were whole,
The world would not in darkness roll.
But now, beneath a cruel regime,
We drown in hate — a fascist dream.



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Всепобеждающая когорта

Мастер спорта,
Лжеучёный —
Вот когорта!
Мир "кручёный":
Яркий Духом исключенье —
Повсеместно РАЗЛОЖЕНЬЕ.




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The All-Conquering Troop

Mastered games,
Faked the science —
Troop of fame,
Twisted alliance.
Bright in spirit, lone ascension —
Widespread moral decomposition.



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"Благодать" тотальной лжи

"Тишь да гладь, и благодать"...
Только мне на то насрать —
Буду Мерзость обличать
И себе не буду лгать!..




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The "Grace" of Total Lies

"All is calm, a sweet delight"...
Yet to me, it feels contrite.
I'll expose the Filth in sight,
And end the reign of lying light!




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Сравнение англоязычных и русскоязычных читателей

Англоязычные читатели
Гораздо лучше. "Русский мир"
И для поэта как проклятие —
Двойник убогий в нём кумир.




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A Comparison of English and Russian Readers

The English reader shines far brighter,
While "Russian world" is but a curse.
For poets, 'tis no friend but blighter —
A broken idol, worse and worse.



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