Point

Every line has a dot at the end.
And you still have a story,
Sometimes there is nothing.
Pass this field,
But remember death,
She will meet you at the end of the field.
Can wash it with cold water,
Can embrace the branches of trees,
Can cover the paws of oil,
And you with a calm soul,
Calmed, give it to yourself.
In this world, we are all one with the world,
We continue the great outcome ...
To whom here everything belongs,
The body is near, but the soul is to God,
The president talks about equality,
And he had already put on his crown,
But it is not recognized in any way,
That his ass, belongs to the people.
Wearing the crown, he put the line,
What is not his people, but much better,
He put money in first place,
And it's good for him,
And for people, nothing is worse.
And Satan reigns there,
The star of hope was replaced by a two-headed eagle,
Heat of spring on the mud and puddles,
Heat of love on those,
Who was not wanted by anyone.
A huge funnel over the country,
Joy pulls from people,
And there is only pain, illness, war and chaos,
The destruction of the price in the heads,
Emptiness in the soul,
From the money, the cattle are only warmer,
The dirt of the pig is also a joy, after all.
And the field is the president,
He carries a heavy cross,
The offender he, going to Calvary,
He hurries to catch it yet,
Forgiveness is to ask,
What Satan served,
And the first flight,
In the morning, fly to God.
And the point here,
Each puts himself,
In fact itself you live,
You write everything yourself,
Love and pain,
Good and evil,
Finish everything, you also have the right.
To live, not to please shit,
And the love to give to all those,
For whom you, this world was sent.