The spiritual leader embraced by saint power
Was sniffing the powder of war
Between the infidel and those who’re faithful
Determined by the elite’s core.
He sniffed the powder, the ash from the corpses
Burnt in the hearth of hate,
Was getting tipsy drinking the water
Running from open veins’ gate.
The queue of pale children who stood embarrassed,
The kids were to kiss his tar hand,
To get the lips dirty, to tip the weak balance
Between the religious gangs.
The innocent angels were getting a marking –
A crescent or sometimes a cross –
Which doesn’t matter, they all will be victims
Of bloody religious wars.
Image source: territa.ru