I'll make a broth, I'm drunk from walking grass,
Forget-grass, forgive-grass.
I throw a bitter "alas" into a tin ladle,
Sweet "alas", eternal "alas".
I throw cigarette ashes and campfire ashes
Throwing children's secrets, dolls, weather vane,
I will reflect a slice of moonlight lemon at night
And to make it a little salty - I will give will to the knife.
Bottoms Up!
My way…
Drunk!
To become tame ...
You lead me from the hateful threshold
Oh, oh-she-she ...
I'm drunk from my poems, I'll make a decoction,
From other people's poems, from anyone's poems.
I throw a handful of sins into a pewter ladle,
Sin boys, sin girls
A spoonful of porridge that I left on the table as a child
And a pinch of boring rules about good and evil.
I throw the dead straw of the sun's rays.
And to make it a little salty tears pour a stream.
Bottoms Up!
My dear…
Drunk!
To become tame ...
Why not cry, even knowing that she will leave with me - different ...
Oh, oh-she-she ...
I'll make a broth I'm drunk from what I lived,
From where he lived, from whom he lived.
I throw a cursed bunch of bull veins into the ladle,
Ship veins and guitar veins.
Sugar from the stars of that old night
A lock of native hair
The letter "r", a gift from a daughter, a full load of belongings,
Oak leaves, maple branch, quinoa stem,
And so that a handful of sea water was slightly salty.
Bottoms Up!
My black raven ...
Drunk!
What would become manual ...
That he would not starve me, neither over land, nor over the sea ...
Oh, oh-she-she ...
