Chapter Four Pride

A CHRISTIAN POEM: “Taboo or not taboo!”
Dedicated to my Beloved wife, Nikki
[The Foundation - Scriptural Prologue]
“I, even I, am the Lord; and beside me there is no saviour.”
(Isaiah 43:11)
“For the Lord your God is God of gods, and Lord of lords, a great God, a mighty, and a terrible, which regardeth not persons, nor taketh reward.”
(Deuteronomy 10:17)
“For I am the Lord, I change not; therefore ye sons of Jacob are not consumed.”
(Malachi 3:6)
“Jesus said unto them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Before Abraham was, I am.”
(John 8:58)

[The Author’s Gate - Ïðåäèñëîâèå]
The Word is set. The seal is tight.
I step from shadows into light.
I bring the truth, I bring the rod,
The ancient thunder of my God.
No bribes He takes, no face He fears,
He counts the blood, He counts the tears.
Before the world, before the breath,
He is the Life, and He is Death!



+30.0+
[Intro - Narrator Voice, Deep and Resonant]
PRIDE: An excessive estimation of oneself and a hollow feeling of superiority over all of God's creation.
[Verse 1 - Epic, Pompous, Slow Tempo]
Behold the Mirror! See the Golden Crown,
That weighs the soul and strikes the heavens down.
I am the Sun! The stars are but my dust,
In my own image, I have placed my trust.
I scale the heights where angels fear to tread,
With wreaths of laurel bound about my head.
The world’s a stage, and I—the only King,
To whom the spheres their silent anthems bring!
[Chorus - Massive Orchestral Explosion, Stabbing Violins]
Pride is the cancer in the marble vein!
The royal thirst for universal reign!
It hears no voice except its own decree,
A lonely god in its own misery!
Not "We" but "I"! The echo in the hall,
The golden rise before the final fall!
PART 3.1: THE TIME TWINS PARADOX
[Style: Gothic Symphonic Metal. Grand piano, dark cello intro, heavy distorted guitars in chorus. Operatic but aggressive vocals.]
[Verse 1 - Intellectual, Slightly Sneering Voice]
Fine speech, indeed! A masterpiece of art!
Enough to chill the blood and stir the heart.
Oh, how they fool you, simpletons and sheep,
While truth is buried in the shadows deep!
I shall not curse, nor cast a stone of blame,
But let the facts speak out their holy name.
The pile of truth is high (as I have shown
In Chapter One, where seeds of lust were sown).
[Verse 2 - Driving Rhythm, "Military" Precision]
The calendar provides a sacred date—
With soldier’s rigor, it decides the fate:
December’s chill. The twenty-fifth. The birth.
A day that shook the foundations of the earth.
But look! A hundred other gods appear,
"Time Twins" they call them—listen close and hear!
Twelve disciples follow in their wake,
A ritual path that none of them can break!
[Bridge - Haunting and Ethereal]
Why rattle facts if pain is in the chest?
Bring forth a Christ from your own beating breast!
Become the Virgin of the New Decree,
Gather your twelve—and set the spirit free!
What follows then? The mind is lost in haze,
But hearts find freedom in the holy blaze!
[Chorus - Epic Orchestral Explosion]
He loves! He bleeds! He’s crucified again!
To Southern Cross He flies above the pain!
He strips the armor of the earthly shell,
And rises high above the gates of hell!
Empty the soul! The crown of thorns is set!
Are you still here? The end is not here yet!
[Outro - Dark Harpsichord]
We start anew. A blank and silent page.
The ancient books await upon the stage.
Let us look deep, for intrigue’s sake, and pray—
Face to face with facts... we find the way!

PART 3.2: THE SILENCE OF THE ARCHIVES
[Style: Dark Symphonic Metal. Fast, clock-like ticking percussion. Heavy church organ. Dramatic baritone transitions into aggressive metal growls/chants.]
[Verse 1 - Whispering, Intense Search]
The Library! Behold the dusty sea,
A shoreless ocean of antiquity.
If Satan walks the earth in skin and bone,
His name within these scrolls is surely known.
No internet. No digital "thought-hub."
I am the paper-worm, the rhythmic scrub,
The servant of the rhyme, the virus-host
Of old religions—searching for a ghost.
[Verse 2 - Frantic Pacing]
Papyrus! Parchment! Birch-bark from the cold!
I seek the Christ, the story yet untold.
But no one saw Him! No one wrote a word!
A silent vacuum—empty and absurd!
Burn them to ashes? Librarian! Old friend!
Is this where all the sacred stories end?
These books are sieves! They leak the very truth,
Mute as a fish, from old age back to youth!
[Bridge - Modern Sarcasm, Building Tension]
A "Golgotha" block? A "Messiah" chat?
I’d Google every date—just like a rat!
To know the seed, the womb, the holy spark...
But coals are doused, and we are in the dark.
The fire is out! Yet the wound is raw and deep,
A ghost that wakes the world from centuries of sleep!
[Chorus - Epic Imperial Power Metal]
If God was never there—in flesh and face,
Why did His "Plague" infect the human race?
Why hunt the sheep? Why fear their quiet prayer?
A wooden picket-fence of martyrs everywhere!
Rome is in splinters! Rome is torn in two!
But Constantine knows exactly what to do!
A master-stroke! No fool, the Great Decree,
To save the Empire through a god... and me!
[Outro - Victorious and Cold]
The Lord of many-faced Olympus yields,
Giving His rituals, His dates, His fields.
A smooth exchange! No scandal, no grand fight,
Between the Pagans and the Sons of Light!

PART 3.3: THE GREAT SYNTHETIC HYBRID
[Style: Dark Symphonic Industrial Metal. Harsh, mechanical beat. Heavy brass section (horns). Aggressive, cynical operatic vocals. High-drama.]
[Verse 1 - Sarcastic and Cold]
All myths and symbols—thrown into the heap!
The Tyrant wakes while all the subjects sleep.
I fear I bore you with this ancient pain,
Íî ñíîâà ñ áîëüþ ïîâòîðþñü (I’ll say it once again):
To lie to nations is a foul, disgusting sin,
Yet that is how the hybrid’s reign begins!
A forged alloy, a monster born of old,
To conquer worlds with stories bought and sold!
[Verse 2 - Fast, Hammering Rhythm]
The year is Three-Twenty-Five. The Roman light.
Two faiths are crushed in concrete—black and white!
The Great One tangled dates and mixed the lore,
More treacherous than Brutus was before!
"Neither for you nor them!"—the hammer’s blow,
A brand new style to make the masses bow!
The charisma of the young, the bones of old,
And "Voila!"—the trap is set, the soul is sold!
[Bridge - The Visual Transformation]
The sun-disks of the Pharaohs, golden-bright,
Become the halos of the Sons of Light!
They couldn't dream up something of their own,
So the Schemer took what’s old to build his throne.
Isis is nursing Horus? Change the name!
Recast the play! It’s all a clever game!
Now Mary holds her Jesus to her chest—
A matter of "taste," a hollow, sacred quest!
[Chorus - Epic, Booming Power Metal]
The Council meets! The choir starts to sing!
To vote upon the nature of the King!
"Is He a God? De jure? De facto? VOTE!"
The holy decree is written in the throat!
Now Christ is Lord! A Prophet! And a Son!
The spiritual monopoly has won!
And if the Savior is the Father’s heir,
The Church is the bulldog, guarding every stair!
[Outro - Gritty and Sinister]
A private line to God! A golden gate!
"All others—OUT!"—the decree of the state.
Because of gold—oh, gold is never enough!
The Roman Order, made of iron stuff.
The "Parade-Allee!" The circus of the pride!
Holding the world by the balls... with nowhere to hide!

PART 3.4: THE VATICAN CAN-CAN (The Monopoly on God)
[Style: Heavy Gothic Industrial Metal. Rhythmic, mechanical "factory" beat. Aggressive operatic baritone. Orchestral strings screeching like a horror movie.]
[Verse 1 - Sarcastic and Bitter]
The Witch is hungry! The Prima’s greed!
The Great Director feeds her every need.
She’ll never leave the stage of her own will—
The young starlet is left to rot and chill!
"All the world’s a stage!"—and the Vatican line
Has danced the "Can-Can" through the mists of time.
In crimson robes, with skin so loose and old,
They rot the young to keep their grip and gold!
[Verse 2 - Cold and Political]
They twist the Word of God for political gains,
To bind the nations in their sacred chains.
The Papal Throne? A bed of lust and vice,
Where pure Phacelia pays the ultimate price!
What? A honey-flower from the Alpine height
Dares to bloom without their "holy" light?
"It smells of heaven? Nonsense! Stop the breath!
We demand obedience—or we demand death!"
[Bridge - Heavy and Grinding]
Maybe, one day, for a mountain of gold,
They’ll let your flower be bought and sold.
You may bloom for the crowd, you may shine for the sun,
But only if the Pope says the work must be done!
I don’t say it’s "evil," I don’t say it’s "good"—
Rhyme is the God where the Poet has stood!
Dimension is born when the journey is through,
And the world needs an Order... old or new!
[Chorus - Epic and Tragic Explosion]
But look at the price! The expropriation of Truth!
The murder of souls! The slaughter of youth!
From the "Word of God"—only propaganda floors,
And the greed of the Cross in the religious wars!
A knot of deceits! A web of the lies!
While the world under "Inquisition" dies!
Did Christ leave the earth for this theatre of fear?
His life was Love—not the blade or the spear!
[Outro - Haunting and Final]
The Name of the Christ is buried in gold!
The bridge to His Love has been broken and sold!
"The shed is on fire—let the house burn as well!"
Your head is a cage... and your mind is a hell!
Between Good and Evil, on the razor’s edge,
You’ve traded your soul for a Papal pledge!

+31.2+
[Verse 1 - Soulful and Intense]
Maestro! Pour a glass of wine!
What heavy music for the ears!
So tragic, from the soul, divine,
No dry remarks, no fake tears!
Only a flute can weep this way...
But what about the peasant’s clay?
I bend above the ancient page,
To see the truth of modern age.
Another version, alternative view—
Why should I hide the trace from you?

[Verse 2 - Historical Thriller]
It wasn’t a hoe, but brothers twain,
Who found the cave in search of gain.
And Juma took the ancient text,
Not knowing what would happen next!
He sold it for a piece of bread—
The very scroll that caused the dead!
The holy words that brought the pain,
The tortures of the Christian chain!
Hooray! The scrolls are more than hundred!
The Vatican was shocked and blundered!

[Chorus - Epic Grinding Revelation]
In forty-seven, forty-nine,
The new caves opened in a line!
Inside the jars, just side by side,
The goat-skin scrolls began to ride!
In rotten vessels, dark and old,
The faith of martyrs was unrolled—
One hundred fifty-one, the Psalm!
It broke the sky and broke the calm!

[Outro - Dramatic Suspense]
The Dead Sea Scrolls, the Qumran ground,
Turned all the heaven upside down!
But only one deep wound remains,
To show the tricks and show the chains,
The world of fakes, the master’s lie—
What genius of deceit could buy!\

+32.1+
[Verse 1 - Sarcastic and Punchy]
So let me show you Monsieur Pierre!
A simple draftsman from Paris,
Plantard’s not noble, but look there—
With crazy dreams and modern flair,
Not for the cash or high degree,
He told himself he is divine!
A madman’s joke, a crooked line,
But Pierre was thinking wide and free.
His childhood mind was full of schemes,
To prove his blood by holy dreams—
Directly related to Christ, he swore!
Through Father’s line and ancient lore!
When cruel parents act like kings,
The broken child will dream of wings!

[Verse 2 - The Birth of Deceit]
So dreamers wait, and dreamers pray,
Our darling Pierre was on his way!
And when the planets aligned so neat,
He cooked a soup of grand deceit!
A fake version of Qumran ground—
Narcissus is a addict bound!
To prove to everyone he’s right,
Pierre brought all his rage to light!
"The Merovingian blood is mine!"—
And suddenly, the scrolls align!
Bingo! From his deceptive pen,
The myth was born to rule the men!

[Chorus - Heavy Punk-Rock Industrial Explosion]
It's time to show the highest light!
In fifty-six, the trap was tight!
The alleged grandson of Abbot’s name—
(Old Siey;s played this wicked game!)
A twisted legend, dark and grand,
He fooled the brains of all the land!
A brilliant play of global scale,
"The Priory of Sion" tale!
And like a cherry on the cake,
The code-breakers believed the fake!
Scientific circles shocked and cold—
By simple draftsman, young and bold!
+32.2+
[Verse 1 - Cinematic and Mournful]
The sky turned black during the execution,
The autumn screamed with wet distress.
Why did they face this execution?
The end is where the start will bless?
The first one fell, a golden-haired,
With frozen eyes that blindly stared.
He never knew the scent of lace,
A gray soldier's coat upon his face.
And right beside him fell his brother,
The one he trusted in the raid.
One year older than the other,
From Uyma land, where sails were made.
Where miles are better than kilometers,
Where men entrust the sail to winters,
They knew the price of friendship’s line—
He died in striped shirt so fine,
His sailor’s cap fell in the grime.

[Verse 2 - The Miracle and The Mother]
The killers stared with shaking fear
Upon the dead in autumn mud.
An old, dark widow then came near,
To weep above the fresh, young blood.
The whole magazine was spent in rage,
To drop the boys at early age.
The mother fell, her tears were wild—
From fascist metal, cold and defiled,
She lost three sons in bloody wars!
Eye for an eye, the heavy scars,
But only grief could break her mind.
She waited for the death to find,
When suddenly she heard the moan—
The sailor boy was not alone!
The laws of death were broken wide,
He survived the fire, he didn't hide!
Shot through his body, full of lead,
His mother's spell kept him from dead!
A crumpled orthodox cross on chest
Kept him alive by God's request!

[Chorus - Tragic and Epic Explosion]
The son was breathing in the field,
He kept his childhood fears inside,
He dreamed the old woman was his shield—
His own Archangel mom and guide!

[Outro - Shocking Twist and Grotesque Asylum]
And after all the hellish schemes,
You know that Hitler’s alive, it seems?
He’s right beside me, down the hall!
The mustache, hair-lock on the wall!
Don't be deceived by hospital white—
The gown is just a mask from light!
Can you hear that? He’s mad again!
He screams in ecstasy and pain!
To some of you—a simple freak,
To me—the sh*t that floats and reeks,
Unwashed in toilet, dark and vile,
The devil's rotten, filthy smile!
[End]
+33.1+
[Intro - Melancholic Acoustic Guitar and Whispering Wind]

[Verse 1 - Mad and Desperate Monologue]
Perhaps I’m mad, a broken mind,
The madhouse is my lonely cave!
But how is that? My viewers blind!
Why must I howl into the wind,
Like bitter ghost above the grave?
How many freaks, how many beasts,
Live in my walls and rule the feasts?
How can God stand this dark disgrace?
The brainless monsters in their lace,
All covered with the medals bright!
My Friend, my Brother, Holy Light—
Oh Jesus, open up Your eyes!
The innocent soldiers die in cries!
They pay their lives like heavy tax,
For tyrants sitting on the backs—
For Roman Popes, for abbots' greed!
The Church is just a rotten weed!

[Verse 2 - The Darkest Alliance]
The faith is dead, the stumps remain,
The Papal morals bring the pain!
Their holy essence is the trade—
Remember how the deal was made?
They welcomed Hitler to the throne!
The fascist blessed by Papal stone!
A sadist, ghoul who ate the crowd,
While millions wept beneath the shroud!
And legions marched in iron boots,
To rip the spirit from the roots!
Where are the souls? The trains are near,
They drag the spirits into fear!
The day before, today, tonight—
The dark express to heaven's height!

[Chorus - Heavy Tragic Western Explosion]
[Beat Drop]
The black smoke rises from the ground!
The shaven heads without a sound!
And Christ was flying through the space,
To kiss the curls on Jewish face!
The Polish, Russian, English boy—
The youth destroyed like simple toy!
The hair of Juliet and Ann,
Once praised by poets and by man—
Now ripped away from living skin,
A pile of ash, a sacred sin!
The souls fly high, they do not care,
The gas-chambers are full of prayer,
And only pain is left inside,
Where human hope and mercy died!

[Bridge - Slow Haunting Americana]
[Slide Guitar Solo]
And only wind in empty space,
The chimneys stare into our face!
In that black smoke the girls are gone—
Oh Sarah, Olga, dark or blonde…
The fire is fast, they can't return!
The heavy ash begins to burn!
It covers lands, it covers seas—
You cannot dress the dead in peace!
No medals hide the skull and bone,
No mothers rise from graveyard stone!

[Outro - Final Accusation]
Do you know this, the living crowd?
They went to heaven like a cloud!
In forties, back in modern time—
Rome! You are guilty of this crime!
Do you know this? The answer's: Yes!
The stench of ovens, dark distress!
The smoke that rises from the dead—
Will choke the killers in their bed!

[Transition to the Arkhangelsk Sailor theme...]
[Fade out to dark acoustic chords]
+33.2+
[Verse 1 - Cinematic and Mournful]
The sky turned black during the execution,
The autumn screamed with wet distress.
Why did they face this execution?
The end is where the start will bless?
The first one fell, a golden-haired,
With frozen eyes that blindly stared.
He never knew the scent of lace,
A gray soldier's coat upon his face.
And right beside him fell his brother,
The one he trusted in the raid.
One year older than the other,
From Arkhangelsk land, where sails were made.
Where miles are better than kilometers,
Where men entrust the sail to winters,
They knew the price of friendship’s line—
He died in striped shirt so fine,
His sailor’s cap fell in the grime.

[Verse 2 - The Miracle and The Mother]
The killers stared with shaking fear
Upon the dead in autumn mud.
An old, gray widow then came near,
To weep above the fresh, young blood.
The whole magazine was spent in rage,
To drop the boys at early age.
The mother fell, her tears were wild—
From fascist metal, cold and defiled,
She lost three sons in bloody wars!
Eye for an eye, the heavy scars,
But only grief could break her mind.
She waited for the death to find,
When suddenly she heard the moan—
The sailor boy was not alone!
The laws of death were broken wide,
He survived the fire, he didn't hide!
Shot through his body, full of lead,
His mother's spell kept him from dead!
A crumpled orthodox cross on chest
Kept him alive by God's request!

[Chorus - Tragic and Epic Explosion]
[Heavy Beat Drop]
The son was breathing in the field,
He kept his childhood fears inside,
He dreamed the old woman was his shield—
His own Arkhangelsk Mom and guide!
Through mud and blood, the holy light,
She is his true Archangelic Mom tonight!

[Outro - Shocking Twist and Grotesque Asylum]
[Music fades down to Lonely Acoustic Guitar]
[Vocal style: Soft, Sweet, Intimate Country Singer]
And after all the hellish schemes,
You know that Hitler’s alive, it seems?
He’s right beside me, down the hall!
The mustache, hair-lock on the wall!
Don't be deceived by hospital white—
The gown is just a mask from light!

[Sudden Vocal Shift: High-pitched Psycho Scream, Screaming Vocals]
[Heavy Industrial Beats Slam In]
Can you hear that? He’s mad again!
He screams in ecstasy and pain!
To some of you—a simple freak,
To me—the sh*t that floats and reeks,
Unwashed in toilet, dark and vile,
The devil's rotten, filthy smile!

[Outro - Sudden Silence, Only Acoustic Guitar Strum]
[Laughter]
[End]
+34.1+
[Verse 1]
I am a corpse, unburied and undone,
All solitary beneath a weeping sun.
My brittle reason hath betrayed my trust,
And turned my sacred prophecies to dust.
Old Doctor Foster whispered in mine ear:
"Thou art the monarch of the common pier!
Go, feed the maw of the ignoble crowd,
And let thy iron speak it clear and loud!"
[Verse 2]
Those who bestowed their pity on my head,
Now lie forgotten in a silent bed.
The barren earth encompasses my state,
And none but shadows linger at my gate.
I bear no sin; a phantom in the dark,
Where falsehood leaves its everlasting mark.
The truth doth sink us to the deep profound,
But sacred secrets keep the spirit bound!
[Chorus]
A plague on faith! A curse upon the blind!
Those three false sirens of the human mind!
What care I now for Hope, or Love’s decree?
A dog of war is what I claim to be!
Through crimson miasma I shall carve my throne,
Though horrors reap what my own hands have sown!
[Verse 3]
I should have been a master of the brush,
To paint the cosmos in a holy hush,
To start anew upon a canvas white,
And wash away the terrors of the night!
But no sweet rose am I within the bower,
A weed in mire, stripped of every power,
Yet even Lucifer would cede his post
To rule the kingdom of this broken ghost!
[Verse 4]
The tender eyes that loved me are no more,
I cast my anchor on a dismal shore.
The grave is made, the final vows are tied,
A grim betrothal where the truths divide.
How sweet the edge of fate's relentless knife,
That cuts the thread of this tormented life!
The vapor chokes, the burning vapours rise,
And blinding darkness falls upon mine eyes!
[Verse 5]
Where is the gas that seared my weeping sight?
A bitter drought consumes me in the night!
Where are the vats of vengeance and of gore?
Where are the patriots who marched to war?!
The wretched fools, the broken, and the maimed,
Who cheered the rhetoric that I proclaimed!
[Verse 6]
I shall not yield! Defeat I shall defy!
Though my lame shadow gives a hollow cry!
The whole wide realm shall be our bloody aim,
To purge the rebels in a holy flame!
How do I tremble! How my hatred breeds!
Against the factions and their rotten deeds!
My ancient legacy I threw away,
And burned the scrolls into a ash of gray!
[Outro]
All's lost! The stage is set with broken glass!
The actors fade... and let the darkness pass!
+34.2+
[Verse 7] — (Ñòðîôû 9 è 10)
My fair Berlin doth burn in holy fire,
And I am choked with unavenged ire!
The British dogs I never shall forgive—
While Russian barbarians in my Reichstag live!
Ah, faithful Eva, wherefore didst thou weep,
To soothe my frozen soul before I sleep?
How many traitors did my gallows bear?
How many cowards perished in despair!
To craven generals I gave their golden chairs,
And assigned a regiment of scoundrels to their cares!
[Verse 8] — (Ñòðîôû 11 è 12)
Closer than all I marched toward the crown,
And pushed the borders of my empire down!
I reached Moscow's gates, and made all Paris stare,
To see the breath of Satan in the air!
What is great Caesar? Or that Corsican fool?
Beneath my iron hand, they cannot rule!
I am the master of this eunuch race,
Who carved the dance of death upon their face!
How many palaces of wire did I build,
Where screams of final agony were stilled!
[Verse 9] — (Ñòðîôû 13 è 14)
From ancient graves I raised the Aryan ghost,
Gave bread and circus to the blinding host!
I stole their fate, I made the Austrian blind,
And locked in chains the common human mind!
The hymns of hate resounded through the night,
To praise the shadow of our bloody might.
How easy 'twas to trick the foolish herd!
To crush the rebels with a single word!
Millions I mixed in crucible of thought,
And bred a race of monsters I had bought!
[Verse 10] — (Ñòðîôû 15, 16 è 17)
No Stalin I, no tyrant draped in red,
Though by his grim GULAG my soul was fed!
The Blitzkrieg’s mine! And like a suicide,
I turned the theatre of deaths into my pride!
How grand it was to rule a fallen land,
With endless power in my burning hand!
Warsaw and Leningrad became my shooting ground,
Where like a wolf I tore the bleeding hound!
Why must I leave this world and close my eyes?
I am the air, the cure beneath the skies!
How dark, how foolish in the dust to fall,
And waste the God-given gift that ruled them all!
+34.3
[Verse 11] — (Stanzas 18, 19 and 20)
How did it fall?! By bitter grief undone,
I swallow poison like a rat outrun!
Better to perish by my own decree,
Than let Ivan impose his chains on me!
I shall not yield to captivity’s embrace,
Just to catch a breath in some ignoble place!
Millions of fates I dared to overthrow,
And rocked the weeping world with single blow!
How light it was to draw the victory’s blade!
How hard to watch my phantom conquests fade!
I raged, I tore, I clutched at dying fame—
A billion rivers cannot wash my name!
I birthed Auschwitz, Buchenwald, and Dachau’s floor,
Where faithful Heinrich opened murder's door!
[Verse 12] — (Stanzas 21, 22 and 23)
Is all in vain? My Supermen now lie
Beneath the heavy soil, under frozen sky!
Where is the "SS"? Where is the vaunted "SD"?
Nothing but bubbles on a stormy sea!
Those blond-haired boys, once beautiful and brave,
Are maimed on gurneys, marching to the grave—
Ghouls, executioners, and plundering thieves,
Whom now the barren earth alone receives!
I closed the circle of impossible might,
Are all my sacred visions lost in night?
Yet look closely—no fear in me is found!
I am a soldier, like a bowstring bound!
The poison bites. My frantic eyelids roll...
I am an artist! Who can read my soul?
What deep resentment fills this broken heart!
Give me my easel—let the future start!
[Verse 13] — (Stanzas 24, 25 and 26)
Would I could walk those graceful halls again,
But vapours of cyanide now flood my brain!
In vain those Jewish critics did destroy
The sacred longings of a painter boy!
Behold God’s mockery—no instant death we find!
Five minutes of agony consume the burning mind!
Centuries pass within this scorched desert,
So much revenge and pain in this dessert!
A bullet in the mouth? Too simple and too weak,
The cheap secret that the fools would seek!
The piece of iron breaks into the bone,
The shattered brain is left to rot alone!
Then comes the void... yet no relief is sent.
There is no Hell—just whispers of contempt!
+34.4+
[Verse 14] — (Ñòðîôû 27, 28 è 29)
I lusted for but one thing—hear my vow!—
To end the shame that broke our nation low!
'Twas not the abstract thoughts, but that foul hand,
The French scum kicking my own fatherland!
And so I swore to paint the world anew,
To rise as Rome's grim heir before your view!
A triumphator-villain, bold and dread,
To drive my iron nails into their head!
I sought to purge the world of Semite race,
To save mankind from plague and from disgrace,
To smash the ancient myth, the stubborn lie,
That they could reach a higher state than I!
[Verse 15] — (Ñòðîôû 30, 31 è 32)
I burned those creatures, cleansed them like a blight,
To root out mercy from my boys of might!
I led them to ecstasy, pure and cold,
Where Aryan bodies, beautiful and bold,
Should fill the earth built on the ashes gray
Of David's hirelings whom we swept away—
Those Russians, Poles, and Gypsies in the mud...
As stalagmites grow drop by drop from blood,
So shall our mound of glory rise and grow
From bones of every crushed and fallen foe!
My roots shall pierce your brains, deep and profound!
My "Hitler Youth" shall rise from underground!
What matter if their lives are shattered glass?
Their shaven skulls shall conquer as they pass!
[Verse 16] — (Ñòðîôû 33, 34 è 35)
They shall forget how he once wept and smiled—
The one who tore the soft heart of a child!
Who swore beneath the torches' burning glare,
Whose bold, proud rhetoric filled the evening air!
They shall forget my downfall and my shame,
The poison and the bullet and the flame!
But they shall feel that sweet and burning thrill,
When breaking brains of scum beneath their will!
They shall exalt my name! Though on a stake,
I shall arise from Hell for vengeance' sake!
And yoked to triumph like a chariot rust,
I'll trample Europe into bloody dust!
+34.5+
[Verse 17] — (Ñòðîôû 36, 37 è 38)
Those whom I poisoned shall prepare my bed,
For in their minds my bitter scorn was bred!
The laws of life by slaughter I shall break,
I shall return with swastika and stake!
The trident in the hand, the shaven head,
Their great-grandsons, by fascist remnants led,
Shall trade their freedom for a worthless lie—
And then my mocking laughter shall fill the sky!
Then shall my raids and executions start,
To tear the green and rainbow worlds apart!
The marching flutes and drums shall fill the air,
While hands clutch Mein Kampf in their final prayer!
[Verse 18] — (Ñòðîôû 39, 40 è 41)
How many hounds stand ready in that line!
How threats pour out from open jaws of swine!
The F;hrer’s eyes burn with a frantic glow,
As hands reach up to hail the overthrow!
How light it is to trample and defile,
To wear the Nazi armband with a smile!
How easy 'tis to twist the nation's mind—
A clever devil, cheating all mankind!
I am a corpse. All solitary and blind,
The empty graves are all I leave behind.
I cursed those three false sirens of the heart...
Would I could find a canvas for a clean start!
[Verse 19] — (Ñòðîôû 42, 43 è 44)
The loving eyes are lost to me tonight,
A bitter drought consumes my fading sight.
I never shall accept defeat's decree,
The British dogs are cursed eternally!
How do I tremble! How my hatred breeds
Against the cowards and their rotten deeds!
Closer than all I marched toward the crown,
A grand dictator while the world went down!
From ancient graves I raised the Aryan ghost,
Millions I mixed into a blinding host!
No Stalin I, no tyrant draped in red—
And look at me! My strength is not yet dead!

+34.6+
[Verse 20] — (Ñòðîôû 45, 46 è 47)
Why must I leave this world and close my eyes?
I swallow poison like a rat that dies!
Millions of fates I dared to overthrow,
A billion rivers cannot wash my woe!
Is all in vain? My Supermen now lie
Beneath the soil, under a frozen sky!
Are all my sacred visions lost in night?
The poison bites, and fades my failing sight!
The vapours of cyanide now flood my brain,
Behold God’s mockery—no instant end to pain!
The shattered mind is left to rot alone,
From all the dead ideas I had known!
I lusted for but one thing—hear my vow!—
To rise as Rome's grim heir and master now!
[Verse 21] — (Ñòðîôû 48, 49 è 50)
I sought to purge the world of Semite race,
To root out mercy, leaving no embrace!
As stalagmites grow drop by drop from blood,
My "Hitler Youth" shall rise out of the mud!
They shall forget how he once wept and smiled,
They shall forget the poison of the child!
They shall exalt my name! Though on a stake,
I shall return with swastika and snake!
The trident in the hand, the shaven head,
While hands clutch Mein Kampf as the scriptures dead!
The F;hrer’s eyes shall burn with frantic glow—
A clever devil, plotting overthrow!
+35+
[Acoustic Intro]
[Atmospheric strings, dark and quiet]

[Verse]
[Style: Haunting children choir, high thin voices]
What grand discourse! As from the grave design,
Yet from the dust they dug this ghost malign!
How many fools still love the pitchfork's prongs?
What thinks Lord Jesus of these modern wrongs?

[Verse 2]
[Style: Children choir continues, eerie and sharp]
Where fascism prepares its bleak return,
Face unto face with ancient ghosts we burn.
And Adolf roars again within our ears,
With scaramouche-like grimace, waking fears!
Let us slam shut the door, the narrow space,
To drown the shriek of Koschei from this place!

[Sudden Break]
[Music stops, heavy bass drop, boots stepping]

[Bridge]
[Style: Brutal gravelly male vocal, Texas-Siberian grit, chewing tobacco style]
And is this Hitler truly evil’s prime?
A mere boy!
A monster-outcast of all time!

[Verse 3]
[Style: Brutal low male vocal, heavy dark country rock guitars kick in]
He only served as common, changing coin!
Did he find luck when death did him adjoin?
'Twas only holy fathers who found grace,
Who used the outcast just to hide their face!

[Chorus]
[Style: Full explosion, brutal male grit mixed with distant eerie choir]
But evil sits in thousand-year-old dust!
And this pale boy with bangs we cannot trust—
This Adolf.
He is but a shadow’s trace!

[Outro]
[Style: Heavy epic march, cinematic Roman brass]
From those ancient, grim pre-Christian days,
Where in the midst of luxury and pride,
The son of God was branded and denied!
[Fade to silence]

+36.1+

Blasting the rhythm of these bloody days,
In boundless striving for a grandeur state,
How history can keep your shadow's trace,
When your proud eagle has a bird-like pate?
Where are the minds of Greece, those thinkers old,
Who charmed you with the fashion of their word?
Where is your fathers' rock, your ancient mold,
Where giant statues stand and speak no word?
There in the ore the golden sun was fused,
Where day and night alternate not for fame,
Where rich and poor are equally abused,
Where words of friendship are no cunning game.
And where above the fields of life and dead,
The Senate shields Republic at its head.

With burning triumph and exciting glow,
The sacred temple smells of rot and dread,
Where Atia, like piranha, tears flesh raw,
And bloody wounds of heart are deeply fed.
You think your cruel gods are full of hate,
And you believe that Hades takes your breath,
Your wretched rulers have a corrupted state,
What keeps their rotting bodies back from death?
What makes their heavy hearts beat on and on,
To practice evil with no inner blame?
From Pompey to great Cicero, each one
Desires the priest's predictions for their game.
To slaughter newer beasts for dark desire,
And take a bloody shower in the fire.

From seven hills your eyes can surely gaze,
Upon this anatomy of sharpest cut,
Where catachresis hides the truth in haze,
The higher stakes, the deeper in the rut.
Patricians and the rabble of the crowd,
Plebeians — why should they possess a voice?
Can every freak make your great lineage proud,
Or give acknowledgment to your high choice?
A strict alliance of these two ideas,
Where slave and citizen become your law,
Where slaves bore slaves through bitter, bloody years,
Where master is no villain with a claw —
He is a poet, thinker, patriot,
Above the slave's foul sweat and wretched lot.

Upon the Thirteenth Legion’s iron row
You shine in pride — how great your spirit stands!
In tight cohorts before the battle's blow,
The golden eagle gleams above the lands.
You tear the Gauls' world-order all apart,
And force on them the essence of your sires,
From words to bloody deeds you swiftly start,
And slit their throats to feed your dark desires.
Renewing your insatiable, fierce tread,
You march into the heart of Europe’s night,
Upon the bones you pave the paths of dread,
While raising up your scarlet banner bright.
Your short sword rips and tears through flesh and bone,
Midst screech of steel and dying soldier's groan.

Your eagle plays and glitters in the sun,
All this is true, but who can live sans fame?
Invincible, your halo's race is run,
While filthy orgies give your morals shame.
All is in you, and all from you descends,
As well as lust to slaughter for the laws,
Oh, greedy icons, where the horror ends,
They drown the gold in blood of modern wars!
They call again the anger from the skies,
And cover heavy bribes with patriots' pride,
Enforcing barbarians' rules and clever lies,
Where Hades rules — the ancient demon guide.
Where right-hand salute is the only rule,
And where there is no mercy for a fool.
+36.2+
And Julius Caesar wears his laurel crown,
In chariot he rides — a God or Fiend?
How many times he pushed the vanity down,
How many killers want him out and cleaned?
All is in vain, all is a hollow sound,
Like future shots from red Aurora's bow,
But even Soviet Union, thieves have bound,
And chopped to pieces. Chariot's a show!
Look at the modern vis-;-vis we meet,
They pretend to be the servants of the land,
But rare and filthy breed is on the street.
Though you call Caesar back to take command —
A whole damn pond of killers will arrive,
Compared to them, young Brutus is naive.

Immortal, lethal, conquering everyone,
You became the First Rome! Did you dream of Third?
Full of fierce power, you knew: trust no one,
No crown for rabble, don't believe their word!
Those bastards crave this heavy, painful power
For nothing else but just to stuff their sack,
They curse the vice, swear on the blood each hour,
To gorge their greed and take their dirty stack!
And every mad, dizzying, reckless day,
That is designed to make your senses spin,
You force plebeians to accept display
Of their defeat, to cover Caesar’s sin,
When he was lying dead before their eyes,
Pierced by the dagger under frozen skies.

While fallen Egypt breaks its queenly gown,
Oh, Cleopatra, art thou born a slave?
Why do you need Rome's meadows for your crown,
When your desert seers are wise and grave?
When you well know that you are bound to die,
The fate of kings — to perish on the throne,
Preferring fight to shields and hollow cry,
Your crowd of lustful servants stands alone.
But can you conquer with your body's grace
The man who wasn't born for defeat or fears?
Your charms mean nothing to this iron place,
As means nothing your gray hair and tears…
As means nothing your country's burning sands,
Where you can't hide from grief in ancient lands.

Her heavy grief is boundless and severe,
Drives you insane (and we must think of it!),
Your child is sleeping at the breast so near,
You are the first of queens to make the hit,
Who found the formula to conquer Rome,
Two royal bloodlines merged in single light,
You long for power, passion, sex and home,
Amidst the giants wishing your death-plight.
Oh, licking sycophants of royal state,
Is it not you who beat the card of might?
What is great Caesar! Cleopatra's fate!
You smashed your foreheads bowing in the night,
And scattered compliments in dirty dust,
To drive the nail of Judas with no trust.

How could the gods endure this fatal scene?
Perhaps goddess Spes has held their divine might.
Where do the paths of treacherous acts careen?
Where leads the rot of playboys in the night?
Those very names of noble, ancient birth,
Who boast of heraldry and mighty sires,
How many widows did they leave on earth?
Whole fleets went down to feed their dark desires!
You cross the line where evil is displayed,
A tactician, not strategist, Mark Antony!
You wear the foe by chase and bloody irony,
But young Octavian is differently made —
No warrior, Caesar's nephew, but a sage,
Clementia cannot soften his cold rage.
+36.3+
Deep in her soul her suffering is clear,
The goddess of Clementia herself
Has begged the other gods from tier to tier,
How much of greedy mind can put on shelf
To sell Republic like a filthy whore?
And fierce Quirinus has no part in this,
God of the war, Mars' son, writes no such lore
Upon the blood. Near trident in abyss
Great Neptune watches from his ocean throne,
The nasty tricks of people in his sight,
One villain brings to families a groan!
Even wise Cicero is a chatter bright.
And now he's slaughtered like a pig in crowd,
Oh, sapient man — where are your Quirites proud?

Old Rome, your armies terrify the queen!
They are the tools of heavy, blinding pride,
You were Colossus — look at what we've seen:
Your total failure is so close and wide.
Can just conspiracies and dark intrigues
Defeat the wild barbarians in the field?
Without a chief, you are in heavy leagues,
And plebeian tears are easy to be sealed.
It is so simple to ignite their hate,
Insult their minds and breed a beastly fear...
Is Cleopatra's noble heart so great?
Then Gaius’ fiery speech is burning near.
Egypt’s own child is also Caesar’s son —
Hostage of fate, the young Caesarion.

The taste of warm blood is so close and real,
For power Gaius wants to slaughter earth.
At orgies his sweet lyre has broad appeal,
But Syracuse sounds echo through its birth.
And every single item of the loot
Brings out the line of your success decree;
Where static blocks pressure like a brute —
(As Archimedes drew before death's plea).
This history is rushing with such force;
It always needs more wolf-cubs for its track;
And so the legendary she-wolf's source
Has nursed two human children in her shack.
Twin brothers in a basket, Romulus, Remus —
The desired base of theorems to redeem us!

And Jesus has not met the cross of steel;
And in the air we feel but Brutus' guilt;
Like cursed wretch no shelter could he feel;
So with Bellona his dark bond was built.
Oh Gods! This terrifying awful brand
Has fallen as a stain on justice here;
Where you must start with treason in this land;
The blade strikes down the idol without fear!
The triumph turns to failure and to dust;
The soul is overflowing with deep grief;
At night beastly terror kills your trust...
No matter how great Caesar was in brief —
In his ambitions matchless bright and high —
You'll always win Old Rome beneath the sky!

Blasting the rhythm of these bloody days;
With burning triumph and exciting glow;
From seven hills your eyes can surely gaze;
Upon the Thirteenth Legion’s iron row.
Your eagle plays and glitters in the sun;
And Julius Caesar wears his laurel crown;
Immortal lethal conquering everyone;
While fallen Egypt breaks its queenly gown.
Her heavy grief is boundless and severe;
How could the gods endure this fatal scene?
Deep in her soul her suffering is clear;
Old Rome your armies terrify the queen!
The taste of warm blood is so close and real;
And Jesus has not met the cross of steel.