A quietly flickering light of a dying lamp whines into the darkness of dreams.
The artist’s thoughts are sleeping, but the artist does not doze off in paper.
He hid knowledge, sows his perception between withered plants.
He does not write naked truth, he writes neither the truth, nor a lie, and it will not undress it.
The most beautiful paintings are not in the mind, they are behind the centuries closed.
You will not find a more complete space, you will not hold it your topic,
Former artist of thoughts, will become the ruler of people.
Together with the good, the demon will rise from paper.
There, outside the window, thunder reigns, the storm runs,
Here, it is so warm and light in my head.
Who will tell them what is evil
Will become for them between the Ambassador God,
He will go down from the sky, by his example he will show how to fill in the heart in the heart.
He will lower the barrier and take a blow, even though he knows that he was unlucky in this.
The artist threw, without any questions, a story, without using words in it.
And a pretentious syllable, it is not needed and he doesn’t even need a reason and a pretext.
The fantasy flows like a stream, the ego will drown in a crazy lines,
He is kind and strict, but this is a lesson, he himself will let down the trigger.
The sky will be opened, the flood will be done. And all this was and will be later.
There, outside the window, thunder reigns, the storm runs,
Here, it is so warm and light in my head.
There, outside the window, thunder reigns, the storm runs,
Here, it is so warm and light in my head.
Thunder reigns outside the window, the storm runs,
Well, we are waiting for you, in the kingdom of windows.
There, outside the window, thunder reigns, the storm runs,
Here, it is so warm and light in my head.
There, outside the window, thunder reigns, the storm runs,
Here, it is so warm and light in my head
Thunder reigns outside the window, the storm runs,
Well, we are waiting for you, in the kingdom of windows.
