It is over nearsighted eyes
Not trusting dumb tears
That the conveyer of sand crawls
Until the hand remembers
The brass knuckle trembles at the temple
The slanted board is calling
I’m at the peephole, under the heel of the ceiling

At the entrance was an egg or a hard-boiled word
I turn my face
Dream jerked with nightmare
A newborn mason sings with me in unison
A winged breeze scorched the peaks of far-away rocks
And here it caresses the lawn.

For this there is a special reason
For this there is a special department
For this there is a special regime
For this there is a special reason

Through the cracks, a convoy
Will seal the windows with grass
We will be led to the slaughter
A hero will cross himself
A loose column of prisoners will step
Forward, for the motherland, into battle!

And the evil enemies will perish
Those who didn’t put boots on
Who didn’t bid farewell to themselves,
Who didn’t kill themselves,
Will all be taken to the slaughter
For this there is a special department
For this there is a special regime
For this there is a special reason