You are small
Not a person at all
Silent mud dance, you twirl.
Gloom clinging under the nail;
A dull voice of void
Dragging the body to the chaise.
Faces crooked, bound in chains,
Fretting over borscht and grains,
Thick packs in queues
Praying for a hungry womb.
Crossing the bottle, a ritual done,
Rocking the cradle in darkness' run.
Amidst the sounds of sawmill's creaking,
Killing your children and wife, and go sleeping.
Note: As this artwork is currentlly based in Tver, Russia, some additional time might be required for the delivery, depending on the destination.
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