Forefathers' weaknesses Boil in shallow ditches On low grounds waits Man with a cape of frost In here the bad deeds Pile up as hills On the left you can see The field of disappointment On the horizon Making scary noises The crows of bad omens Fly the wrong way Under us you can see A swamp-like formation Of malignant tumors That weren't found in time Every night someone moves All the clocks forward The sun always sets When we try to wake up No escape from here No road out of here No migrating bird Makes a stop anywhere near No one entering here Walks without trembling No one even dreams of The hands of gentle fathers'