Kursk Salient Absolute Speed

The horizon bleeds crimson, torn apart by artillery,
But I roar right past the burning T-34s.
My Lamborghini—a low-slung, carbon-fiber void,
Slicing straight through the mud of the Kursk Salient.
No cavalry, no lances, no ink to write my shame—
Just the twin-turbo hybrid wail,
screaming like a banshee through the smoke.

The German lines? A digital blur of gray.
The Russian mud? A graveyard for archaic iron gods.
I weave between the Tigers and the twisted steel,
My liquid gold a target for the gods of war.
Who needs a horse when you’ve got regenerative torque?
Who needs a sword when you’ve got electric fury?

They say poets die in silence,
Or wait for a heavy death in frozen beds.
But fuck the duel, fuck the gown, fuck the dying sigh—
I chose to end this age at absolute speed,
Not bleeding out my life in some velvet shroud,
But roaring into oblivion, shifting right through the fire!

Drop the gear, feel the battery surge—
Into the void, into the furnace, straight into history!