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The forecast was rainy. Who cares when the sun is in me, who sings the love song - refined beautiful among mud and body. Who cares what time it is, when the sun is in my soul I wiped away all the "was it," forward with a hopeful going. Whatever there is, I will accept it. And even pain, I will choose her. I will try to take the unwelcome thing, to the very expanse of my soul. The head in front of life will not come down, as soon as I have to - I will even jerk. And it is not in hopelessness to resign. Even in pieces, I'll still go. I'm going to get a piece of piece. But somehow I will continue. With threads of affection I will always sew. With love ... I will defeat death ...