IZO Narcotics

Think of Lunacharsky
and his bag full of surprises
IZO Narkompros turned
into a can full of worms

A totem staring at the hands of infidels,
a field that awaits to be washed by the flood,
come, precious little horse
we're going back home

Endeavours of the past stinking like piss in a cup of wine
Samson-headed messiahs with albino bodies rounding up
Tearing our precious temples down, down, down
Dressed with the eyes of men