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如今某个遥远地方，一座空墓立在那里。
我们都把奇迹盼望，而这就是那个奇迹。
它不断与我们交谈，无偿赋予我们信仰，
依靠行动还有言语，依靠反讽还有榜样。
圣经里的险恶剧本，又在我们眼前上演：
言语疗愈苦命之人，驱逐游贩洁净圣殿，
万千人众衷心爱戴，依然横遭不公审判，
公会长老接受出卖，十字架上周五殉难——
因为无法容忍伪善，为了事业燃烧自己。
尘世躯壳如若消散，又有谁会吃惊不已？
灵将会在屏幕复兴，奋起化作活的圣像，
地堡牢笼砼墙之荫，瑟瑟发抖暴君沙皇。
灵将会在道中幻化，在这无尽愚昧地域，
在这血腥屠夫国家，文化即是杀戮牢狱，
才刚解冻即入秋末，玩笑愈发不被担待，
没有人把真相道破，不然就有横祸飞来，
一丝不挂魔鬼行军，很难假装视而不见，
街坊学校不断教训：闭上嘴巴仇恨一切，
升斗小民贩夫走卒，迷乱陷入日常纷争，
不知未来前景何如，宣传排泄信以为真。
那些见过奇迹的人，关门躲进厨房里面，
时不时给小人扎针，吟诵《诗篇》心怀信念：
怯懦畜生杀人凶犯，胸口那块冰冷顽石
早晚都会停止动弹，从此安宁复归人世，
克里姆林魔塔高耸，血栓脱落直冲天际，
邻国耕地原野上空，炸弹即刻宣告沉寂，
芭蕾乐声旋即休止，忠犬崽子遁逃四处，
又能闻到夏日气息，终于能从群聊退出。
如同水电还有燃气，卫星宽带还有供暖，
自由接入我们家里，像你曾经预言那般……
终将来到审判时辰，扒下屠夫身上衣裳，
做成这些功勋之人，都靠你的希望滋养。
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PS: А также нам пишут из европ и америк.
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Beyond the polar circle stands an empty grave;
All of us hoped for a miracle, and it was the one that came.
It brought to us faith and hope, irony, smile, and light.
By acting and setting examples, completely free of charge.
For us, the biblical drama of evil events unfolds.
Where cleansing the temple is real; we all saw it heals with words.
Loved and followed by millions, yet judged by a broken code,
Surrendering to the Sanhedrin, for Friday's cross to hold,
For scorning lie and falsehood, for its fervent zeal.
So no one was surprised its earthly form disappeared.
But screens resurrect the soul, igniting the beacon light.
And tyrant trembles in fear beneath his concrete site.
The light dissolves into words in the land of endless folly,
Where jokes are heard less and less, and autumn swallows the jolly.
The land of killers and prisons, where death and blood are holy,
Where the truth is slashed — like everything, cruelly and wholly.
Where the devil strides naked and doesn't bother to hide,
Where the first lesson you learn is to shut up and bite,
And people, simple people, entangled in a quarrelsome life,
Scroll through the sewer channels, seeking for means to survive.
But those who beheld the wonder, behind their kitchen doors,
Stick voodoo pins and read psalms, holding onto their hopes.
Hoping that one day, the stone in the chest of a cowardly beast
Will restore peace to the world by simply ceasing to beat.
And up will soar the blood clots from crimson Kremlin's spires,
The bombs will stop exploding on the lands of neighboring shires,
Then ballets will thunder, and the scoundrels will scat,
The smell of summer will return, and we’ll leave the chat.
And, like heating and water, cable, gas, or light,
Freedom will enter your home — real, shiny, and bright.
The time will come to judge, to destroy the murderers' blight,
And this will be done by the people you've inspired to fight.
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