Here there is no god he is ground to dust In the death machine of industry The iron hearse sent on bitter tracks to the Gulag Suffering forged between the hammer and sickle The sorrow of men's hearts is a broken people Nations at the gallows pray for mercy killing Men of the cloth stand in stretch necked defiance Famines fist sounds the death knell The people's utopia moulds an industrial horizon Rusted Vostok in the lap of the Gods
"I want to burn, give me the funeral pyre Long was life, but my life's waking short The highest of my father's sacraments To climb towards heaven on a towering flame And scream out the injustice by which My nation with fiery iron was beset and slaughtered"
