The Song of the Rebel

I was born one time,
Time of precious death.
My country was killed
By the poisoned breath.
I saw the brightest shine
Of freedom everywhere.
But it seemed to me
Like a great nightmare.

‘Cause I have right and I have liberty
But I don’t have a meal to eat.
I hear lies about a victory
And winners strangle me on the streets.

I grew up in years,
Years of sadists’ love.
When all that we called saint
Was burning in the stove.
And I have only fear,
Fear to lose myself.
I hear the children cry
Because they are to sell.

So many rights and so much liberty
But nothing can compare with cash.
Nobody asked them where they want to live
And owners selling their flesh.

I live in the world
Of decaying brains.
I vomit of enjoyment,
Of democratic chains.
Demons dig the gold
And power from the air.
And I have to destroy them
Or else I will be buried

Under my rights, under my liberty…
And now I have nothing to ask
From sick schizophrenics’ society.
My revenge comes under red mask.


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http://stihi.ru/avtor/mayakovskiy