I’m cleaning this house of shame--
The tables, the chairs, the doors,
The bathroom, the windowpanes,
The glitter, the lies, the whores.

I'm tearing it down--the place
That I once revered in youth--
Now filthy and double-faced
Like a peddler of packaged "TRUTH".

My eyes and my ears burn,
I see you and hear your call,
All the furniture's overturned,
And everything breaks and falls.

You come like a welcome storm--
A release from my squalid days--
O my angel in a woman's form,
It's for you that I always prayed!

You unshackle my feet and hands,
And my eyes now clearly see
Those sacred and glorious lands
Where my heart is alive and free.

                                        July 10, 1990
                                     --Alexander Shaumyan