Paskanjauhantaa ei ikinä oo liikaa. Asioita hoitamaan nimettyjä joutavia paskanjauhajia sen sijaan on. Itsekin puhun

Millions are you – and hosts, yea hosts, are we, And we shall fight if war you want, take heed. Yes, we are Scythians – leafs of the Asian tree, Our slanted eyes are bright aglow with greed. Ages for you, for us the briefest space, We raised the shield up as your humble lieges To shelter you, the European race From the Mongolians’ savage raid and sieges. Ages, yea ages, did your forges’ thunder Drown even avalanches’ roar. Quakes rent Messina and Lisbon asunder – To you this was a distant tale – no more. Eastwards you cast your eyes for many hundred years, Greedy for our precious stones and ore, And longing for the time when with a leer You’d yell an order and the guns would roar. This time is now. Woe beats its wings And every adds more humiliation Until the day arrives which brings An end to placid life in utter spoliation. You, the old world, now rushing to perdition, Yet strolling languidly to lethal brinks, Yours is the ancient Oedipean mission To seek to solve the riddles of a sphinx. The sphinx is Russia, sad and yet elated, Stained with dark blood, with grief prostrate, For you with longing she has looked and waited, Replete with ardent love and ardent hate. Yet how will ever you perceive That, as we love, as lovingly we yearn, Our love is neither comfort nor relief But like a fire will destroy and burn. We love cold figures’ hot illumination, The gift of supernatural vision, We like the Gallic wit’s mordant sensation And dark Teutonic indecision. We know it all: in Paris hell’s dark street, In Venice bright and sunlit colonnades, The lemon blossoms’ scent so heavy, yet so sweet, And in Cologne a shadowy arcade