At line of extremism

The rage boils and already brings nothing to us pleasures
From struggle against preachers of marasmus and a cult of memorials.
Only you, misters, accept these words without insults …
The stupid idlers who have been wrapped up in shrouds of idleness,
Postponing the death to extreme old age,
You do not dream that any fruits of your weakness
Become a subject of someone's patriotic pride!
You, sitting on someone's necks the old prescription
Do not come off in any way, in time, without a fervent kick under a bum.
It is necessary to get rid of you in a dirty settlement in which any more there will be no former "sweets",
That you received for fruits of ignorant amateur performance,
From which have got used to shine and expire dribbl caustic,
Now time, in particular, has come to pay off
For the rested hopes in expectation of sensible decisions
And loss of precious time,
For former rich and universal eyewash,
To please draggings of ideas of an obvious inconsistency;
For dreams rather «The Light future»,
Generated on armchairs fly-blown  grease buttocks
And for dreams concerning own monumental colossus
On any square of "Work", "Commonwealth" or most "Com. Stalin"
For those hypocritical and system slogans which flew from your lips convulsively
To plant on a stake a blunt end on any square "Courage",
For that you there something else prove try in the justification
Yes the hand will not rise also possibilities such any more it will not be presented.
There would be no you, would not be to argue needs on a theme of senseless punishment
And straining, to waste time because of writing obituaries.
Neither a bottom to you, nor tire covers!
Be based with the world!