My Finland

My Finland.
This eu slave to humble themselves,
to submit mass.

The winter under the rule,
in subjection to the governing authorities
with cold colors.
Home hiding in a corner,
cold trembling.
We are ashamed of the new helplessness.
Before, it was the men of iron,
women of steel,
the children were born in the slag,
a consignment of waste.

March was a sinner song,
seven deadly bullet homeland.

Snow bloody surface,
trunks before the altar.
Life, man, moonshine bottle,
and kick the gun after firing pin.
Rifle glossy lacquer,
lip hanging sleeve tobacco.
Yet I remember the war invalids,
I respect spruce heroes.

Infertile unspoilt forests of fabrics battle,
bog, the hoe and Jussi's instinct.
Ponds, swamps treacherous cradle,
fatherland, independence, and survival.

This rugged Finland's land,
curled up in pine trees hugging the sky.
The rivers of ice cold nodules,
the mother of the varicose veins.
For winter, the snow under the carpet.
Our Eng We,
submission to the winter under the rule.
I still weak wail.
I write a message to the world.