Poetry
(C) Protein, 1996
I looked out the window,
I see a yellow-and-yellow river
On the banks of the grated cheese
And the water covered with asphalt.
A water coil rails
And the hunt for a bunch of sleepers,
Only ties of these raids
Selected directly on the beach.
A walk along the shore of the tripod
Collecting all the sleepers in the basket
Because of the excellent beer ties
It turns out, if you think about.
Just think, not think, and on top
Gliders swooped squad
And the lack of tripod legs,
And throws it on the soap of the mountain.
And in the mountains, dry up the tripod
And they showered feathers.
And nanyuhavshis dust from the soap
They begin to carry eggs.
Just me on the drum.
I firmly tied to the bed,
After all, at all offices шестое
I have one perfectly healthy.
I am alone, looking out the window,
I see a yellow-and-yellow river.
Others are hopelessly ill:
See a little square and the city hospital.
I only know here:
Cities do not happen in the world,
The city - it's fiction psychos
Such as those with me in the ward.
Just how to explain the crazy
Zonked from hallucinations,
How beautiful is hunting for sleepers
And how come a tripod.
