My horse, jump, cross the fields! The sun went down, the twilight fell, the moon will shine every moment. Run, horse, this night is dark, breathe with a nostril flame, throw a mane - to ride, come to light, in the woods of the Thillian wilds. And what's that end and end this time before me in the dark, deaf, that the eyes of the eyes are dry, that he does not play bones, but the owl owl? You ride, my horse nose, with a mane - curled and hot skin! So what, that a meadow with you we can not cross the whole of life, that the gallop is actually a scam ... You ride! I'm still in the saddle. In black dark we ride with you two or do we cross life? Is that why, the horse thrown, suppose you're bathed whole in lunar foam, and you're still in the woods - still on this same meadow? It's midnight, but it's really early. You do not stop, do not shorten the pace! Swing the mane, my horse in the morning - my old wooden toy.
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