A ruler is nobody without a crew.
Without a party, a pack, a gang
Alone he is a worthless weakling,
Even if a Cossack,
Still there’s nothing to call him.

He will surround himself with guards,
Proclaim himself a tsar,
Pay him the tax,
Submit to him and live.

For security he will build a fortress,
In the middle a grandiose palace
Beside a temple, a monastery or a mosque.
As God’s viceroy for the masses
He will put serfs and peasants on the meter
To tend the orchards and kitchen gardens,
And at a convenient chance,
He will send them first to death
To enslave other peoples too.