(who jacked a shitty tractor to fucking flee the country)
loosely based on a poem by Boris Pankin: http://stihi.ru/2014/01/14/11766
There’s nothing left for you to do,
get up and go ahead.
Dark matter grows inside of you,
outside you smell a rat.
It all goes wrong but they don’t care,
you surely must be strange
because around you people stare
with such dismay and rage.
Your every dream is poisonous,
there will be nothing fresh.
Great Babylon is calling us
for pleasures of the flesh.
You’re treated like a criminal,
an ultimate outcast.
Your every space is liminal,
your future is the past.
Wake up and go, before you fall,
before they put you down,
you gotta walk this icy wall
or slide and lose your crown.
Now that you’ve been rejected too
and everything is dead.
It’s time! There’s nothing more to do
get up and go ahead.
Song of Peter the piglet
© Copyright: Филипп Андреевич Хаустов, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125051300369
Свидетельство о публикации №125051300369
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