Now my love is not the.
Brother, I know, you are grieving, grieving
About tom, that the moon broom
Poems are not splashed puddles.
Sadness and rejoicing star,
Spadayuschey you on eyebrows,
Your heart vypesnil hut,
But in the heart of the house is not built.
And the, who are you waiting for the night,
passed, like before, by shelter.
About one, Well someone your keys
You gild singing word?
You do not sing about the sun
The window did not see heaven.
so mill, flapping wing,
On the land can not fly.