(совместно с Региной Луковой)
Seven's the number -
For weekdays, weeknights...
Year's three-six-fiver -
For a number of fights
That I am holding
Forgetting your lips' taste,
Payment for folding
From seeing your real face.
Soul's like a winter
In my native place,
Ice-stoned rivers,
Never-ending embrace
Of raining and snowing...
The state I must seize.
God, set me free
From my sweet disease.
Needless to say "I'm remembering you",
Needless to cry of the feelings I miss.
It's just you still are my favorite sin
Bringing the war of emotions to peace.
My skin's like volcano...
Its lava can't find
The way from the fever of feelings and ego -
Thus, you're also the cancer of mind.
I am Love's tree with leaves torn away
Last or the first, whatever ... I'd say -
Strange how invariable whirl of the death
Going through echoing emptiness
You cannot stop, as time couldn't do,
Countings of how long I haven't seen you,
Wonderings "was I a part of your stuff?
Had ever I played any part in your love?"
Losing poor scraps of my personality,
(I) Thank you for opening doors to reality.
(Though) Colors of passion are red and cold-blue,
(And) Current disease is still "God damn' You"...