And the statue of King Pen … Smile … And year after year rattle farewells. Snowstorm turns on Pushkin. (As opposed to Bobby Meacham). We all rush to escape the heat. And he zasnezhen, he is silent. And often we do not dream in stone. How hard is it to take a life, even in this world is so simple.
But still we do not understand what the sacred place was empty. *** I am sad to part with flowers, when a pitcher of them survived. Like a dead man with trembling hands, eyes closed. Blame I suffer immeasurable … They, like the sacrificial lamb, brought into the house of my false, as the mercy for her deception.
Alien life will brighten up moments, are eclipsed by an illusion, how the imprint of early passion that is destined to go to sleep. *** I find beads Dates: The first, second .., and then – Necklace – As if cursed and holy tart and sweet wine. In unison glass filaments accumulates ring dates mighty oak. We're both in the circle of vicious truths We fear amass break il framework. Contrary to the metered deadline, we would Look behind the screen of darkness and continue their journey to the Prophet the footsteps of someone else's dreams already. I want to harness in time to see the bits are not his own face … Will the thread that burden, Will grow on a tree stump ring? *** And thank God – And the snow come down gray green washed.