? ! , , . , , , , . , , , , . Do you hurt? Hurt then! Hurt, For a cry is soaring far. From a magnate to magnate, in Ukraine, And a masters dirty tongue Wheezes about her with a tired saliva. And a sword is burning over the horses mane, A stake from a throat is burnt with blood, There are ribs on hooks where the freedom spoke, Black crows turn red there. There is no rustle, smoke from chimneys there, But wind that whistles into a skulls ear, Lost humans wander all around the world, Beasts without people have got human.
magnate, hurt, ukraine, wheeze, chimney