The bleached skull bones dug into the suit
everything here points to the fact that there is no escape
and if death is destined for us in space,
let the pale road of the Milky Way replace the Styx,
I'm here alone, I'm an astronaut, I'm not supposed to pray
what are you going to change here? If you're the last one in orbit in a rusty can of a ship looking down
and the spores of the nuclear mycelium are tearing the ground, tear up the tear
And touch my eyes, I am here, you are there, But I ask you to return to your dreams at least in passing,
during those intervals while my oxygen is still coming out
In the canvas lungs of the ship, a hobbit growls with bronchitis, and outside the fuss
the dawn has arisen, lean the sphere against the gray glass of the window, lick your lips at the death of the world,
When all the module's onboard system is blinded by radiation
I will write down a sheet, put it in a capsule
Raised helmet visor fills with fractions dust
all the sad things are gone, all that's left is to smile
and in measured silence in the auto-bearing mode, the radio winds up the waves
The message was shot, the squibs clinked together, clanked
When all the dark corners of the soul are illuminated by radiation
I'll write a message, put it in a capsule
To admit that Armageddon works like a contagious diluted streptocide,
not understanding these atlases and nations
My eye sockets will grin at the sky for a long time,
and on the sheet - hello, we hate these life forms,
bleached skull bones,
and in a dark satellite only a cold abyss of anthracite.
What happened, you ask? I don't know myself
one day, after taking over the duty, I suddenly saw
As a blue ball covered with cyclones bloomed
Purple flowers of tulips, lilies stretching upwards
in the headphones, the broadcast moaned like a harsh obscenity, and the screams of those
who hated the whole planet, those who left in the afterburner after the reset,
then everything fell silent, the wave left, I finished the puree from the tube in silence, finished the kefir
it turns out, I'm the last link in this chain, this is bingo, after all, everything has turned
it remains only to write a letter with a message to someone more reasonable,
than we, to pack it in a shiny metal container, like the petal of the seventh fly, our exit is broken, the time has come.
