Russian

Everyone is rushing round,
Though they don't know where they're going,
Each one shouting "Faster!"
When ever I start slowing,
Before I go to sleep at night,
Rest comes but for a moment,
Each morning dawns, I hang on tight,
Whipped to and fro in torment,
The mind stripped bare of needless things,
Like happiness, self, free will,
As I am fitted for leaden wings,
Dejectedly I eat my fill.