Song of the times

The streets are burning,

dazzling gray,

no light, only smoke in the

morning traffic jam.

Machines laugh – without

a heart,

the money speaks silently and

feeds the pain.

The men in suits pull out

cards,

and tears stick in our throats, staring.

Their hollow throne made of cloudy glass,

we crawl silently, they are already growing.

Wars are blooming, blood-red fields,

planted, corrupted by

this world.

The cold fist looms in the west,

in the east the sky has long been horrified.

Oaths fermented like sour wine,

the devil raises himself in rhyme.

Wearing the colors of this

power,

love does not laugh tonight.

And yet –

A Heart, a step, a

cry, a look,

maybe a spark, just a

piece.The streets are burning,

dazzling gray,

no light, only smoke in the

morning traffic jam.

Machines laugh – without

a heart,

the money speaks silently and

feeds the pain.

The men in suits pull out

cards,

and tears stick in our throats, staring.

Their hollow throne made of cloudy glass,

we crawl silently, they are already growing.

Wars are blooming, blood-red fields,

planted, corrupted by

this world.

The cold fist looms in the west,

in the east the sky has long been horrified.

Oaths fermented like sour wine,

the devil raises himself in rhyme.

Wearing the colors of this

power,

love does not laugh tonight.

And yet –

A Heart, a step, a

cry, a look,

maybe a spark, just a

piece.