Sharp Question

We are all in the heart of politics, But we don't want to admit it, We are like angry critics Trying to banish the good. We carry our own opinion, If the Holy tablets, We carry it under fire They pressed it to their hearts. In secret we dream of glory, And we always blame someone, We work so hard But no one appreciated it. We are constantly screaming, That we were cunningly deceived, We see the lie and obediently remain silent, Barely gold before us flashed. And later we want to leave the country, Thinking that Europe will accept us, But we are no longer equal to them And they will only accept us as slaves. For those who don't know yet: No one will take the Russians anywhere, No one will ever recognize us And no one will ever understand.