So sad on the ground,
As if in an apartment,
In which year did not wash, not stranded.
What the damn in this world
The Bolsheviks deliberately brought.
From books flashes Lermontov sail,
And in my head lousy Sir Curzon.
"I'm bored, five!»
"What to do, Faust?»
This is the limit you, so, put.
Irony! Take me! Bindings!
Ryazan peasant squinting eye,
Wherever wrap - all paths converge
In the editorial, "Dawn of the East".
Nice to see you, Comrade Livshits,
As the lake, look you in the eyes of the good,
But, in galley wet clutched,
Zasekretarilsya you Kara Murza.
And Akhobadze ...! other, be deaf,
No revenue thrill, any delight,–
Financial maestro Lopatukhin
Started up with me for the line in bargaining.
To die can be invisible from boredom.
In the paper the lake would ever drown!
I instead Karpov seen all pike,
Teeth fish disturbing the brain and chest.
We need money. Yes!
The shoes burst, the tattered hat,
Although used for book tyschu I gave Virap,
But is it a thousand sderesh with Virap.
It is also a good friend,–
Will you give poetry, and he had them in the most ass,
under ad, where trusts yes galoshes,
As if I galoshes friend and brother.
So make no mistake ringing regalia,
I do not give any glory, our tshtete,
The soul stuck offended Ben Gali
With a terminal hole in the abdomen.
Is the day of rain and joyful life,
Get better eh my sad case?
You are adorable, "Dawn of the East",
But "the West," you would have been better had.