Анастасии Гурман, вдохновителю и организатору этой нетленки, посвящается *)
***
In his obsession with perfection
And battles to the bitter end
He always had the upper hand
Over compassion and affection
Until, against all his beliefs
His inner self committed treason -
He cried, for no apparent reason
Over a heap of fallen leaves
With muddy feet and flooded senses
He stood under a dripping sky
A perfectly imperfect guy
All of a sudden lost in tenses
*)