Прицепной вагон в Поезде Лжи

Обожравшийся кот

Мышь забилась в закуток,
Запасая хавчик впрок.
Но не ждёт её котяра:
Мелочь любит лишь лошара.




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The gorged cat

A little mouse hid in the nook,
Stocking snacks with care it took.
But the cat won’t wait to feast—
Fools find joy in such a beast.



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Прицепной вагон в Поезде Лжи

Паровозик Лжи не тащит
В гору: прицепной вагон,
Что последний, море счастья
Обещал, изгнавши вон   

Перегретый пар, ведь весу
Много в поезде давно.
"Неполадки м`алы" — пресса
Гонит вновь одно говно.




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The Caboose of Lies

The Train of Lies won’t climb the hill;
Its engine's strained, its wheels stand still.
The caboose, with dreams of joy foretold,
Proclaimed the weight was oversold.

"Let off some steam, unload the freight;
This burden makes the climb too great!"
The press insists, "It’s just a glitch,"
Yet churns out garbage, pitch by pitch.



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Changes in Hell

Hell’s population’s
Told: “To Heaven, rise!”
Fools burst with elation,
Cheer and feast their eyes.

“Now believe! There’s choice!”
Between wrong and worse—
Fish or meat your voice,
Be a goat or horse.

Hell’s inhabitants
Build a “Brand-New Heaven”—
Towers, walls immense,
Rebuilt, rebroken, even.

Concrete walls enclose
Madhouse, prison, room.
Change is all that shows,
Sodom turns to doom.

Gomorrah’s new disguise—
Madness cloaks the wise.
Flip-flops soon arise—
Chaos never dies.

Every twist distorts,
Worse than what's before,
Waste as fools contort—
"Progress" counts no more.

Then call “progress” loss;
Backwards is the way.
Pressure’s crushing force—
Lies weigh more each day.

Ideas there hold sway,
Weapons sharp as knives.
Easier to slay
Than untangle lives.

Hell’s population’s
On a steeper slope,
To the depths of nations
Where no barriers cope.

Idiots lead the way,
Fueled by thicker lies.
Not long now—decay
Blooms where demons rise.



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The wheel of wretched life turns fast,
No stopping it, the die is cast.
The weak, like slugs, are crushed with ease,
While lies disguise it all as peace.

"The Care" is now the sacred guise,
A fetish veiled in hollow cries.
Fools believe the tales they’re fed,
So silence reigns where thought has fled.



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"The Freedom of Choice"

Between some crap, much worse, and worse,
Your "choice" is offered, gift or curse.
When Hell’s abyss becomes the stage,
They dress it up with softer rage.

The choices gleam, a polished lie,
Each hyped as something rare and high.
Then all the filth is stirred anew—
And poured straight into souls like glue.



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Ah, a wretched little world:
No lessons are unfurled.
Betrayal, lies, and greed—
Its only reigning creed.



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"Freedom of speech"—a hollow word,
A decoration, naught but show:
Just glitter on a cage for bird,
Like frosting on a cake of woe...



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