Текст песни Metox, Марк, Паша Техник - Суд Присяжных

Marat slowly began to settle in, having even earned the respect of the other inmates.
His case was making headway.
During the investigative reenactments, he was a picture of tearful misery.
He felt sorry for himself—yet showed no pity for that bitch's family.
Even the lead investigator eventually came to sympathize with him.
Being a faggot in Rus' is a heavy burden to bear.
Anal pain, stress, and constant anxiety...
And how glad he was for him—for now, little Marat was one of us.
He promised to petition for a lighter sentence,
And to have a word with the prosecutor as well.
"It’s a complicated situation, Marat.
Even the *blatnye*—the career criminals—sometimes speak up to me on your behalf.
They say God Himself sent you here on a mission:
Back down to Earth... and what a mission it is!" To set you free—that, of course, is unthinkable.
But we’ll try to get your sentence reduced.
Transfers, interrogations—how the time dragged on!
But Fate, it seems, finally smiled upon Marat.
A jury trial was convened to hear the case—
After all: four corpses, plus one guy who got fucked.
The cell block gave him a heartfelt send-off for his transfer;
They even asked the Abbot to pray on his behalf.
At dawn, he hopped into the paddy wagon and headed for court—
Great Russia... such terrifying times.
Inside the holding cell, they brewed some *chifir*; he crossed himself,
Then stepped into the courtroom—and oh, what a shock Marat got!
Standing there—the "fucked-over brother," playing the victim;
And one of the jurors—good God!—was Glafira.
Wearing a pink headscarf and a modest sundress...
Thank goodness no one here knew who he really was.
It was just a coincidence—divine intervention, perhaps?
Ah, what a journey it had been, straight from the graveyard!
The judge read out the charges, slow and deliberate;
The guards, meanwhile, smelled faintly of Marrakech smoke.
The "victim brother" recounted how he’d been fucked—
And judging by his tone, you could tell he’d actually enjoyed it.
The guards handed the judge a *malyava*—a note from the *blatnye*—
Begging him to grant clemency, for the sake of all the saints.
There was also a handwritten plea from the church, from a priest,
Stating that while the man was a sinner, he was worthy of forgiveness.
Marat then rose to speak, making a full confession:
He was a "resurrected faggot" on a mission of great importance.
He’d stumbled once—but he swore it wouldn't happen again.
Next, it was the jury’s turn to be heard.
Glafira rose to deliver a speech in his defense:
He told the judge, "So what if he’s a faggot? What’s the big deal?"
"Yeah, he killed a few guys; yeah, he fucked one—but it wasn't without a reason!"
A faint smile played upon Marat’s lips.
The judge retired to his chambers to deliberate,
Sitting there, pondering the nature of the crime.
Suddenly, an icon hanging nearby began to weep holy oil;
The judge’s faith in Marat was now unshakable.
He returned to the courtroom and read out the verdict:
Five days in the settlement colony... But there is a condition:
Marat must fulfill the promises he makes.
I grant you my pardon, despite all the blood I have witnessed.
You are also required to cast your vote in the elections;
They are set to begin very soon.
We expect you to have learned your lesson,
And to do what you are bound to do before God.
Marat is led away; Glafira applauds.
Under escort, he catches some shut-eye in the paddy wagon.
Then it’s back to the remand center—God has shown you mercy.
Everyone tells him: "That was truly something else!"
Next comes the transfer to the penal settlement—hard labor alongside the other cons.
Little Marat works diligently there.
And then, an idea takes root: to found his own Party—
To become, for this world, a genuine savior.
"We’re going to reach the very highest level!"
But for now—off to the elections, just as he promised!
The gates swing open—freedom! Soon, it’s back to chasing skirts.
So, who did he vote for?