I`m in the middle of some net.
This net is made of answers, which are dumb.
They haven`t understood me yet.
But they start tracking me down.
I`m making off. It`s hide-and-seek.
I think there won`t be happy-end -
I feel them breething on my cheek,
A sign of my defeat – some weapon in your hand.
I hear them. I know there is no use to fight.
They will catch me in the evening,
But won`t make away with me till night.