Halt God with the clubfoot, stop mocking our weal
With the steel of your heart always forging woe
You know what we want is ploughshares
Why encourage that stupid rival of yours
—Ares of rifle and sword—
Prometheus is chained on the peak
Foothills of Caucasus swarming
With Scythian tanks and guns
All you do is to chuckle
And go on shaping new weapons
It is no use listening to you
And our hireling rulers...