The Brainwashed, songs

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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The Endless Stream of Meaningless Decay

The "truth" once clear has turned to haze,
Reborn as nonsense in its ways.
Delusions mocked, yet still they stay,
Within our souls' chaotic fray.

What’s the cause? It’s blind belief,
A tool they wield to mask the thief.
The bold few think, the rest obey,
A shepherd leads the herd astray.

What he declares, they call their creed,
Oppose him? Punishment’s decreed.
The daring few endure the pain,
Unbowed, they rise against the chain.

For sense they seek where lies are sown,
And claim their reason as their own.
Through toil they shape their minds anew,
Though pointless work—it serves the few.

Not for the herd this labor’s worth,
But for the bold who prove their birth.
Their joy is found in pages vast,
Where kindred spirits meet at last.



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Independent Search

"Knowledge"—a force:
For the dim, of course...
For the wise, it’s seeking truth,
Finding worth in this frail world’s course,
If you face the Spirit’s proof.

If the questions that you ponder
Find their answers in your soul,
Among the rare, the true, you’ll wander,
Breaking free from blind control.

But should "knowledge" lure your being—
Deceit’s rubble waits ahead.
With the fools you'll find agreeing,
Trusting lies that beasts have spread.

Science twisted, truth perverted,
Media’s rot: a stinking sham.
Use your mind, with spirit girded,
And no one will call you damned.



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The Lowest Ranks of Worldly Rule

"In the prison's social hierarchy, established in the 1960s, there are four main casts ('ranks') among inmates: the thieves ('blacks'), the common men ('grays'), the collaborators ('reds'), and the outcasts ('blues')."
— Valery Abramkin, "Prison Subculture"

The crisis of "power"—a rank debased!
Servants of beasts in fawning disgrace.
They stir up passions in stinking airs,
Fools believe in their empty snares.

Orders come from depraved shadows' might,
The gray cardinal stays out of sight.
No jest remains, the world descends,
A pit with no bottom, where reason ends.

Here, sheep are led by goatish guides,
To ruin’s cliff, where deceit resides.
The talking heads on every screen
Proclaim their lies in polished sheen.

"Presidents," "ministers,"—titles grand,
Yet emptier words one cannot withstand.
The misty world sees but a few
Who glimpse the rot beneath the view.

Convince the fool? A hopeless cause—
He trusts the lies, ignores the flaws.
Soft they weave their deceitful thread,
Only to snare with lies unsaid.




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Endless Slavery

Get to work, you fools, and hurry!
Not the rats in suits or jury,
Not the spies or schemers hollow,
Not the media’s mad to follow—

Work for crumbs and shaky shelters,
“By God’s will!”—or so they tell us.
Bow and break until you’re dying,
Truth ignored, with fools complying.

Never grasping all the LYING:
To the rulers, sheep’s worth buying.
Sheared and slaughtered, just like cattle,
That’s all nations in this battle.

Monsters rule us, servile masses,
Politicians kiss their asses.
Bribed or blackmailed—slimy dealings,
Anger boils past all concealing.



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SOCIALIST CAMP

For some scraps and shelter grim,
We’ve replaced our God with him.
To the Party, all our cheers—
Genius towering through the years!

As for stinking dissidents,
Blind to "glorious" events,
Lock them up! It’s less a strain
When we’re free of whiners' pain.

Paradise on Earth we’ll make,
If we give twice what we take.
For now, behold our grand Camp’s fame—
Its flag so soaked in blood and shame.

...
...

Yes, the truth is drenched in gore,
Not for progress, less for more.
Communism feeds on killing,
Its defeat? A wishful billing.

Plans arise in beasts once more,
Sheep will bow to evil’s roar.
They’ll erect a mega-Camp—
A crimson cross on white, blood-damped.




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Politicians

A spiteful clown stands to the right,
A super-villain’s on the left.
"Just scoundrels!" someone shouts outright,
But scoundrels, too, are job-bereft.

The stagehand brings a script anew,
To hand it out for all to read.
The wretches spout absurd untrue,
And crush the "people" with their creed.

If war’s the act, the stage’s aflame,
They'll spark it fast—it’s all the rage.
And "Global Madhouse" earns its name,
As neighbors clash in savage rage.

The flames will cool. Another clown,
Approved by Evil, takes his place.
Once more, the crowd is tranced, spellbound,
By lies they wear as truth’s embrace.



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Geometric Games with Shifting Minus into Plus, etc.

A fixed idea—Axis X,
And Y is Fooll Corrupted Press.
On this flat plane, thought’s lost its flex—
Madness is Z. What games? Confess!

All "upward" flows, engulfed by night:
The crags, the peaks, the hills, the gullies.
And "downward"?—What remains of light
Is drowned in moonshine's wretched follies.

They’re silent—how can Sense withstand
The drivel smothering the nation?
Dishonor spirals, hand in hand—
The world rots out in resignation.

The wars have shown them what is plain,
As CowID once did. The madhouse lingers.
Its Depths now reached. The price? Insane,
Through sly deceit and cunning fingers.

Where minus flips to mimic plus,
All virtue falls under negative selection.
The wise are but a little mass
Amongst the fools lost in defection.



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The Farce of Left and Right

Left! Right! Left! Right!
You go left, I turn right.
Zombies heed grotesque oration,
Mocking nature’s grand creation.

From the left, a clown is preaching,
Soon a brighter world beseeching.
On the right, a jester’s vision
Guards traditions with precision.

Politics—a foolish play,
Few can see through its display.
Both the red-haired puppets’ gold
Feeds the farce that’s bought and sold.

Genocide’s decree is clear,
Carried out by vermin here.
Change the puppet—same old game,
For the beasts remain the same.



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Light Above the Canvas

A painter dipped his brush in grime—
Without the Light, it's always so:
A wretched smear, a mark of time,
A slave’s disgrace for all to show.

When twisted canvases take flight,
Herds cheer for "depths of fragile soul."
The answer’s simple: bend through Light,
Transform each work to make it whole.

But where the darkness tends to creep,
The Light will rise above the frame—
Complexity through anger seeps,
A modern artist's subtle flame.

Yet fools alone would hold their peace
When life around is filth and woe;
Darkness marches, finds release,
To pierce the depths of all below.

And then the "darkened" canvas yearns,
A burst of Light reveals no lies;
Its filth dissolved, its truth returns—
The Light within must always rise.

How can you reach it? Turn your gaze
From outward lies to inward skies.
The outer world’s a fleeting haze—
True growth begins where wisdom lies.



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The Icebreaker

"A living word is mighty, nothing can stop its stride..."
Alexander Herzen

An Icebreaker of Forgotten Words
Once more carves its daring trail,
Through icy lies — a frozen herd,
Compressed today in a dreadful veil.

Most such paths through verse are laid,
Poetry's voice, both sharp and clear.
In gaps between the words displayed,
A clever mind finds food sincere.

Rhythm and rhyme will gently guide
The keen to a Heart's Hidden Cave —
There Salvation will abide,
And fools find pastime they crave.

In Words, there’s something for each soul:
An end to Evil Words foretell.
Not mine, but one that fills the role,
Declaring: darkness' reign shall fell.

An Icebreaker of Fiery Speech
Brings doom to chains and all their slaves.
Its roaring voice, a final breach —
To end the rule of masters' graves.

Beyond these Words, a Vision lies,
A gateway to transcendent spheres.
Once the ice thaws and Darkness dies,
A brighter stream of hope appears.



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Zombies

Few... The Few! Is not enough!!!
Greed, a serpent’s fang so tough,
Sinks its teeth into the soul,
Ripping thought to ragged whole.

Then stupidity creeps near,
Turning life to crude veneer.
Wretched goals and vile desires
Fan the rot instead of fires.

Thus, a dead thing’s born anew —
One of many in the crew.
Evil’s legions, vast and vile,
Claim their kingdom for a while.

Beasts now rule this wretched sphere,
No free cheese remains, I fear.
Only lies and fears they spread,
Endless attacks — a reign of dread.




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Gerontological Political Science

"My advice as an old man to you is this: do not listen to the advice of old people."
Antonio Machado.


Decay, dismay — untouchable, revered!
Gerontology to this world is near
To political science, in its way:
The clueless stumps still hold the sway.

By stepping stones of sordid deeds,
They walk as though on water's sheet.
Submission to their whims proceeds —
In servile worlds, the meek compete.

They crawled up Misery's lofty slope,
The sycophants now crowned as kings.
For scoundrels rule the foolish folk,
Those elders fake, their lies still cling.

This broken world, in madness steeped,
Deserves the "monarchs" it has crowned.
Despair is left for souls who weep,
The rare sane minds where fools abound.



Videos with songs: https://youtu.be/_83_jy_TpdU


All poems: https://vykhovanets.yzz.me