Текст песни Слава КПСС - AntiH

Antichrist, colossal Peter, an alien Necropolis—
My city of the dead stands upon bones.
In a city black as night, atop a black hearse,
The music of the blacks plays for the doomed junkies.
I see no one doing anything at all;
The city is utterly wrecked—a truly clean job.
A pale swamp—our eternal Golgotha;
Harms reaches out to me from his gilded coffin.
The right of the strong; the groans of victims are labeled "morality."
Idyllic scenes—your little world is merely imagined.
Communism, LGBT—the lowest efficiency rating;
Yet I would simply like to visit the Moon.
Prostitutes, drugs, the fickle call of the flesh—
How are things at the gym? How are things on the front lines?
Our president will soon write...
No, *your* president will soon write...
The strong are right. What are good and evil?
Who gives a fuck who the aggressor is? I stopped caring long ago.
The weak are weak. And so he says that God will punish
But God, it seems, is dead—and so the profit margin decides
The Antichrist, clad in Saint Laurent
Moral judgments, I leave to you
The serpent is tragically strangled, the temple destroyed
One bullet for God, and the second for myself
Antichrist; massive Peter, an alien Necropolis
My city of the dead stands upon bones
In a black, black city, atop a black hearse
The music of the blacks plays for the doomed junkies
Antichrist; massive Peter, an alien Necropolis
My city of the dead stands upon bones
In a black, black city, atop a black hearse
The music of the blacks plays for the doomed junkies
You are steeped in Christian morality, my son
It makes you weak
It is time to open your eyes to reality
Violence is a part of it
Yes, it is outrageous
It is terrifying to look at the world
As it was originally conceived
Weakness and death
And primordial horror
There is no God; and in that final moment
Mom won't come—and there is no higher authority to call upon
There is no hope, no love, no anarchy
Everything has a price; everything has a melting point—
The melting point of any friendship. Open your ears:
This is a sermon delivered from the bottom of the filthiest puddle
The leftist strains and labors to birth you a concept—
Defining what is forbidden and what is allowed; what is right and what is wrong
It makes me sick to watch this fucking circus
Help me send this communist straight to the afterlife
The Orthodox cross, Karl Marx, *Das Kapital*—
The eternal protest of the downtrodden of every land
*Über alles*
Antichrist; massive Peter, an alien Necropolis
My city of the dead stands upon bones
In a black, black city, atop a black hearse
The music of the blacks plays for the doomed junkies
Antichrist; Peter A vast, alien Necropolis—
My city of the dead stands upon bones.
In a city black as night, atop a black hearse,
The music of the blacks plays for the doomed junkies.