You do not torment me cool
Do not ask, how old I am,
Obsessed with severe epilepsy,
I became the soul, as a yellow skeleton.
There was a time, when from the suburbs
I wanted a boy - in smoke,
That I will be rich and famous
And all that I love.
Yes! I'm rich, rich with surplus.
was cylinder, and now it's gone.
Only one remained shirtfront
With fashionable pair of battered boots.
And my reputation is not worse, —
From Moscow to Paris dud
My name terrifies,
How to fence, loud swearing.
And love, not a fun thing eh?
you kiss, and her lips as a gesture.
I know, feeling my overripe,
And yours will not be able to blossom.
I still grieve too early to,
Well, and if there is sadness - it does not matter!
Gold braid on your mounds
Young noisy quinoa.
I would like to again in the area,
To the sound of the Cygnet
Sink forever into the unknown
And the dream of a boy - in smoke.
But the dream of another, about the new,
A strange land and grass,
Do not express the heart of the word
And he knows not to call people.