Rodina, skol'ko stoit? (How much, Mother Russia?)

They who have never been cold
     beaten in the snow by strangers
stinking of drink
      unkissed by misfortune,not seen
prices chalked on the soles
       of scuffed shows
crowning thick ankles on
       rusty park benches

They who know not
  the taste of bread covered in ashes
the smell from Autumn mud as
it mates with other stinking clay

Who know not
  that everybody's ass
is up for grabs,
  that it's you today
       and me tomorrow
that the fix is in and
     the inside crowd
       decides what they get to keep
that the name of the boss is not
    the name painted on the office dooor
 They who know not that
      a man on his own is
      one to be distrusted

 Will never understand you, rough
           and beautiful mother
Rodina, elegant and scarred
     victim and victimizer
giving your love to men who
         violate you
 your bleeding
mouth, jagged stumps and all,
  who use you to rip your
own children to shreds
 and drain an entire sea
  to make their base dreams
          come true.
Comfortable men, here, who
  don't speak skaz*
     and never brawled
             will never understand you,
Which is why they will fail
         to save you
          from yourself