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Here there is no god he is ground to dust |
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In the death machine of industry |
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The iron hearse sent on bitter tracks to the Gulag |
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Suffering forged between the hammer and sickle |
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The sorrow of men's hearts is a broken people |
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Nations at the gallows pray for mercy killing |
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Men of the cloth stand in stretch necked defiance |
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Famines fist sounds the death knell |
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The people's utopia moulds an industrial horizon |
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Rusted Vostok in the lap of the Gods |
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"I want to burn, give me the funeral pyre |
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Long was life, but my life's waking short |
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The highest of my father's sacraments |
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To climb towards heaven on a towering flame |
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And scream out the injustice by which |
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My nation with fiery iron was beset and slaughtered" |
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[Vizcma Belgenvica] |
