The snow sways softly
over bridges and rivers black.
I'm covered with my head
the darkness of the city gate.
And a cry froze in his chest.
There are thousands, hundreds like me.
The stagecoach is moving.
And there is no traveler in the caravan.
So do I every time
whether the enemy to itself, whether the defender.
This month was wild.
Well, the current one is unlikely to yield.
And there's a snowstorm in the Windows
replaces the cold summer.
I bury my head in the bed.
And I compose other people's verses.
Something to live became laziness.
Yes, and in General, I didn't like it.
And your eternal reproach.
I have no right to answer you.
My heavy sentence
it will be submitted for execution.
I was a sower-thief.
Idiotic, in fact, karma.
And it is depth.
There are only demons up to their ankles.
I drink the Cup to the bottom.
I walk around like a rake.
And perish my
competent, but out of place.