Не ходи

You live, it seems normal, you don't bother anyone, and then you realize that not bothering anyone is stupid.

Because when someone snaps their teeth at you, it's strange not to interfere with it.

It's just as strange as running naked when it's winter outside, because someone else's sweater was put on you, you were thrown aside into a different wind, your mother was replaced, and left-handed letters were stuffed into your mouth. Leaders of opinion have torn out their own from the inside.

Both Kharkiv and Peter have now become literally equal for you. They are not the ideals of the south, but they are rich in promise.

The bonfire always seemed brighter in their house, and in those fireplaces there were skulls instead of stones. Those who smoke say: "It's not our fault, it's just that it's always been accepted in our country.

Sit close, brothers and sisters, you and I are in the same boat.

Grab the oars, we're having so much fun rowing together, and you'd better leave your protests for freedom.

You also miss silence. "Don't look at them, turn off the ether.

Do not read fairy tales about brothers and sisters, do not sing along, do not look for heroes among them, because after that song, weapons always sing. Do not look at them, turn off the ether.

Do not read fairy tales about brothers and sisters, do not sing along, do not look for heroes among them, because after that song, weapons always sing.

I grew up where children did not grow up.

But those who still managed are now men of steel. Uncle Stalin himself evicted my parents from here.

The grandchildren have left, there is no one to write to. Old. The viburnum hangs over the cities.

The mirror is silent on our question: "Who have we become?" The album is on the table overnight. Yes, as if this is the last time.

I know my grave will be covered with letters.

My voice sounds in half mono and in stereo, but I can't get through to anyone.

I am a land of mystery, although, in truth, it is enough to compare to the West, because they know Shchedryk, but do not know how Pokrovsk sounds.

Step by step, you climb into the houses to live, old woman, protecting this youth, who didn't give a fuck about it.

There will be a house in Donbas, cunt, Vas, but I'm high because I paid x2 the price here.

My circle of friends is circled in witches' chalk. I'm dying in the spring, but I know it's a fake.

My dreams are burning on the floor where Shahid hit. You're talking about what we're talking about, Illizha, aren't you?

Do not look at them, turn off the ether.

Do not read fairy tales about brothers and sisters, do not sing along, do not look for heroes among them, because after that song, weapons always sing.

Do not look at them, turn off the ether.

Do not read fairy tales about brothers and sisters, do not sing along, do not look for heroes among them, because after that song, weapons always sing.

In my youth, among the cadets, I loved Makarov the most. You argued because you indulged in romance

Nitsin.

This and many other serials stamped on Otaru, encouraged us to become even closer and closer.

The embroidered towel was called a village piece by you, and I, in love, followed the likes of Vkontakte. To the beats

I pinched Oxy and Markul around the park, kissing in the cool of the night under the board of the infamous party.

Not in Donetsk, not in Kharkiv, not in Luhansk and not in Feodosia did I get to know the great classics of Balakov and Pushkin.

But here, on the outskirts of Lviv, among thousands of Little Russians, I held on to the great-grandfather of truth until it was destroyed by drought.

Since then, daily bread has become exclusively ours.

Mines and Crimean beaches are yours, but you stood with an album of red heritage in your hands, shouting: "We have something in common here, never let it be yours." You will not see river barges here, nor children's laughter.

Fortunately, our meeting will take place under a few hailstorms.

I promised you extreme dates, so I will do it. Again on "Tavria", only on different shores

Dnipro.