There was a festival of Greek music. The sun was melting musicians - Lyra had a mustache., Harper was trailing by eight strokes. The shore was littered with mermaids - Mermaids were shaking and dying.

I won't stay here long., The tile and courage is sparked - The stone will grind off the needle, And the pencil wears out. Rectangular recesses Embrace the black rascal - Knees stop on the ground And language.

Everything can be changed from the century By the will of his work, But the appointment of a person We don't always understand. Who is the locomotive and who is the road, Who urban, and who the forest

For some reason here, as a foreigner, I feel deeper. its nature - And scream inside ancient castles, And wants hand ice water.