And in Russia again a “revolt,”
For the death-notices are too many,
Coffins settle into fresh earth.
A dictator wages the war.

The people are outraged — “pozor!”
In their intent to kill,
The terror is too weak for them.
They want still more to die.

Too small for them, the human “die-off,”
The vozhd has to shout:
“Where are you leading the country?
Where to gather timber for the graves?”