Around St Petersburg the fog
Is emanating tales of fear.
Its rotten stench has howled for years,
It spreads malignant myths of death.
The truth behind the curse is raw,
A void as deep as Russian steppes,
Where generations wait for word
Of riches mired as feudal hordes.
Those truths are never glimpsed for long:
They’re flashed as fugitives of code,
They’ll raise their dues and feed the hounds,
They’ll drag all wayward souls beneath.
The bleakest marsh has tales to tell:
For all around they’re tales of hell.
response to the film Приключения Шерлока Холмса и доктора Ватсона: Собака Баскервилей (The Hound of the Baskervilles): the version directed by Igor Maslennikov