beheaded future.
tomorrow, we'll go out into the streets
as naked, same-sex babies,
pressed and with hollow thoughts.
despite a plethora of abscesses,
those bold dots will align.
they will align and encircle us like a wall,
they will take us to the slaughter as if we were a herd.
and will there be enlightenment?
no, there will be confusion, fear, drowning in one's own pity.
to hold on a bit longer – that's the only thing we can do.
the indispensable pain of repentance.
a chance of being cursed by a random hound shames us.
we are afraid of their opinion.
where is your 5G generation?
where are the naked, the pure, the faithful?
those who are not servants, not some junta.
where are the unsubmissive? where are the pure ones?
those who were deliberately born to endure?
look: these are the seedlings,
a sign of your fear and cowardice.
they're not covered with flowers in the field,
they're in a concrete field of absurdity,
chained, pressed, with hollow thoughts.
will they sprout? what do you think, civilians?
you yourselves are those dots.