Open wound

There are those who believe that hell does not exist
In a place of world-wide shamelessness
A dreadful trace of heartlessness
Not just of the ones who have murdered here
Yet there is a place like this

And Moscow is celebrating
Even though these dogs know not
Over whom, or just for what
Of past wars forgotten?
Of corpses long gone rotten?
Of souls long besotted with lies?

Yet there is a place like this