Геноцид, Genocide

Недуг для тела, Чушь, Страх уму:
Фашизм умело чрез Кутерьму
Добьёт последних из могикан.
Мирок — могила; мирок — капкан.




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Гулким эхом отзовётся
МИРОВОЙ МАРАЗМ Внутри.
В нём ответов не найдётся —
Истину в себе узри...



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Кино достало:
В нём смысла мало,
Зато соплей — 
Хоть мир залей...




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Смиренные в наследство землю
Получат — НА два метра вглубь.
А те, кто чуши клира внемлют,
Обрящут "рай" — под Адом глубь.




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Три разных кошмара в одни сутки

Кошмарик: комарик
Летает и спать
Опять не даёт —
Кошару внимать,
Чтоб утром в КОШМАРИЩЕ "бодрым" войти —
С дебилами в ногу в Концлагерь брести.




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Напыщенность дураков

Принцесса из леса —
Из каменных джунглей,
Невеста Балбеса —
Инвестора Гуглей:
Сомненьям нет места —
Как пуху средь углей.



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Дуст Лжи и Страха

Вот те на — среди Говна
Вырос Осознанья Куст!
Здесь с Разумностью война —
Сразу применяют Дуст.




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Гостья из "будущего"
 
Дебил с авоськой — суть проблемы.
Кто не с АВОСЬКАМИ — те немы.



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Геноцид
 
Осталось бить по голове
Младенцев. А другой исход —
Прозреет вдруг тупой урод.



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Раб ослаб. Но копит скарб.
Он надеется на что-то.
Всё напрасно: мир — блевота.



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Рабские ввек поколения —
Мало движения к Свету,
А потому РАЗЛОЖЕНИЕ —
Ум днесь подобие Бреду.



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Духовной Мощи сколько в дурне —
То перейдёт в иную жизнь.
Когда заботишься о шкуре,
Исчезнет всё как гниль иль слизь.




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Замена коммунистической хрени религиозной хренью

Без хрени нельзя,
Тупые друзья:
Иначе ПУСТОТНОСТЬ —
Муть, Страх и Животность.




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Genocide

The only blows left to deal
Are aimed at infants’ heads —
Unless the dullest brute can feel
The light that wakes the dead.



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A Visitor from the “Future”

A fool with a shopping bag — the core
Of all the troubles we endure.
Those without bags? They have no voice —
No bag, no speech, no future choice.



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A Visitor from the “Future”

The bag-toting fool — the root of it all;
No bag in your hand? Then no voice at all.



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Worldwide Madness

The world’s derangement echoes loud,
Resounding deep within the crowd.
No answers dwell in all that noise —
Turn inward, hear the Truth’s own voice.



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Echo of the World

The World’s Great Madness thunders through,
Its hollow echoes dark and true.
No answer hides within the din —
Seek Truth not out, but deep within.



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The Dust of Lies and Fear

Well, look at that — from heaps of grime
A Consciousness bush dares to grow!
But war on Reason starts on time —
They dust it down before it shows.



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Dust of Lies and Fear

From piles of shit a strange bush grew —
A sprout of Consciousness, alive!
So Reason must be poisoned too:
Just dust it — and it won't survive.



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Spiritual Might

Whatever spiritual strength fools claim
Will follow them to lives beyond.
But those who worship flesh and fame
Leave rot and slime where souls should stand.



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Spiritual Might

The fool’s great spiritual might
Will pass into another life.
But when you guard your skin outright,
All else rots away like slime.



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Replacing Communist Crap with Religious Crap

No crap will do? Oh, what a shame —
The fools just switch the brand and name.
For otherwise, the Void appears:
A fog of fear and beastly years.



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The Same Old Crap

No crap? The fools can't bear the Void:
They need some creed to fill the void.
Without it — fog, without it — fear,
And beasts come crawling ever near.



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Fed Up with Movies

I'm sick of movies —
So short on sense,
But dripping with tears
At our expense.



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Movies

Movies have worn me thin:
So little sense within —
But tears and snot galore,
Enough to flood the floor!



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The Grandeur of Fools

A princess from the forest,
From jungles made of stone,
Now bride to some big investor,
A billionaire of Google-tone.
No room for doubt or question —
Like fluff among the coals!



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The Grandeur of Fools

A forest princess — what a sight!
From concrete jungles, cold and bright;
A fool’s beloved, rich and blessed,
With Google millions on his chest.
No doubts disturb their golden goals —
Just fluff that dances over coals!



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A Grave, a Trap

Disease for the body, for the mind — fear and lies,
Through chaos, Fascism skillfully thrives.
It hunts down the last who still dare to stand —
This little world’s grave, this little world’s trap.



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The Last of the Mohicans

For bodies — disease; for the mind — empty lies;
Through chaos, Fascism quietly flies.
It strikes at the last who refuse to conform —
A world turned to graveyard, a world turned to storm.



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The Slave

The slave grows weak, yet hoards his hoard,
Still hoping for some hidden reward.
But all is futile, all is rot —
This world is nothing but a lot.



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The Slave

The slave grows weak, yet guards his stash,
Still dreaming that he'll make it last.
All hope is vain, all dreams are shot —
The whole damned world is just a blot.



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Generations of Slaves

For ages, slave-born generations
Have barely moved toward the Light;
And so decay consumes the nations —
The mind itself is lost from sight.



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Generations of Slaves

Slave generations, age by age,
Make little progress toward the Light;
Thus rot becomes the common stage —
And minds today are sheer Moonlight-mad.



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Slave Generations

Slave generations, age by age,
Make little progress toward the Light;
So rot consumes the human stage —
And minds today are lost in night.



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The Humble Inheritance

The meek shall inherit all the earth —
Two meters down, beneath the sod.
And those who heed the clerics’ words
Will find their “Heaven” under Hell.



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The Humble Inheritance

The meek inherit earth, they say —
Two meters down, beneath the clay.
Those listening to the clerics’ spell
Will find their “Heaven” deep in Hell.




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Three Nightmares in One Day

A nightmare-midge, a buzzing pest,
Won’t let me sleep or get my rest.
It keeps me up till morning light,
So I can face the **NIGHTMARE MIGHT** —
Then march in step, as all fools do,
To Camp, where nightmares all come true.



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Three Nightmares in One Day

A tiny nightmare — buzzing fly —
Won’t let me sleep, won’t let me lie.
It drills my skull the whole damn night,
To make me “fresh” for morning’s fright:
Then off we march, in perfect line,
With all the fools — to Camp sublime.







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