And there are no people in the world tearless,
Haughty and easier to us.
The treasured amulets are not worn on the chest,
About her sobs do not write poetry,
Our bitter dream she did not reopen,
It does not seem to promise paradise.
Do not do it in his heart
The subject of purchase and sale,
ill, in misery, nemotstvuya on it,
About her not even remember.
Yes, for us it's the dirt on galoshes,
Yes, for us it is a crunch on the teeth.
And we melem, and interfere, and cross
That in no way implicated the ashes.
But lay down in it and become it,
That's why I call so freely - his.