My country crawls into black hole, where gravity crashes people and grinds them between moons and swallowed planets. Still not embracing why people want to be mashed like potatoes, squeezed like oranges. Because only some masochistic rush to destruction can explain supporting the money-eating, thieving government.
To be completely honest, my cat would be better prime minister, and my dog a better president. One doesn’t need to be batshit insane to bring horse to a senate. Maybe I should name my cat Incitatus. And open before him door to political career.
Books will burn. Human rights too. Everything will fall apart in this rotting sickness that drills Poland alive.