They condemned him to death as a villain, killing him. Pilate raised his hands: “I am not guilty of blood.” And the king of kings was dragged into a purple robe, The wreath on the holy head is made from thorns. They put caps on Him and spat on Him, And they shouted: “You, King of Judea, please!” Kanchuki, mov vipers, were ringing over the body - The holy image has become unknown. If the wild yurba has eaten enough, The cross was placed on Yoma’s wounded shoulder. You who yesterday bowed to your Tsarev, Today it has become dark. The rollers didn’t flinch when they nailed them with live bait Those hands that did good, to the cross. - If the Tsar, then save yourself! - capped, The distorted, pure lips were moving. It’s finally gone, there’s no point in wondering On the crook of the torment, the suffering from it. Those hands of Jesus did not want The world embraces the whole world and the fierce catas. They did not recognize Messiah, their Savior, God the Holy Truth was crucified on the cross, And they didn’t know that Life is the Road, How many millions will follow this crazy path?
