By The Whore Poem by Liza Sud

You gave to everyone, but to me - no,
oh bureacratic whore!
But now I will not burn
in  hell for sin of Sodom!

I came to you,
and you sat pale.
you'd give me better - I ask you:
you are sinful anyway.

But you told me quietly: go away,
Judas you from Kronstadt.
Nothing is sacred in your chest,
Money and paper only.

Noone to cum with - I thought.
but in my heart all the same - I felt well!
I turned to you at the door:
and asked: why are you so pale? -.

did you say to me, I'm deathly ill.
but you are sick much stronger.
because your soul is dying, dear
because of girls, anger, career, money!


So to me - she was a saint!
replaced everything with her singing,
By sinful whore I was saved
  from the first fall sinful!