LIKE A DANDY OF LONDON DRESSED AS A SOLDIER OF LOVE IN SPRING

Electric locomotive VL80S-2509 on the climb with the Kislovodsk - Novokuznetsk train, Kislovodsk station

Premiere! Sotto - Amsterdam

Here, Gentleman Jack, the keeper of Devonshire, will calmly extend his hand to you, without oohs and aahs, worthy of love and admiration.

I see how patient and beautiful, Reliable and young, He took my heart and mind, London city!

The saliva is bitter, but it keeps its word. Until the defenders of love stop slamming saucers, And your sensitive eyes fill with someone else's coolness. But afterward, the bitterness will vanish from our lips, And we will humbly fold our wings. And, not letting in the lousy life, We will fade like the light in the hallway

The saliva is bitter, but it keeps its word. Until the defenders of love stop slamming saucers, And your sensitive eyes fill with someone else's coolness. But afterward, the bitterness will vanish from our lips, And we will humbly fold our wings. And, not letting in the lousy life, We will fade like the light in the hallway

..where everyone is already equal in both stature and love, where there is nothing to complain about… the only sadness is that each of us will be given forgiveness and candy at our head, and nothing more.

Neither resentment nor impotence will disintegrate on the path. I will blossom with blood-blue gratitude in my chest. My heart is polar to fate, even if it roars and tears. For love and gratitude are the absolute code of life.

Neither resentment nor impotence will disintegrate on the path. I will blossom with blood-blue gratitude in my chest. My heart is polar to fate, even if it roars and tears. For love and gratitude are the absolute code of life.

The century is weary and breathing, I looked back - no traces. Above the earth, an extra fifth, I am in the arms of the winds. Blow me out, rinse me, Take away this damned trash. I will remain a thread, twisted Only with love, in half.

The century is weary and breathing, I looked back - no traces. Above the earth, an extra fifth, I am in the arms of the winds. Blow me out, rinse me, Take away this damned trash. I will remain a thread, twisted Only with love, in half.

For some reason, they show me your life And won't let me take my eyes off it. As if there's some great mercy in that— Watching you commit suicide. In my thoughts, in the fiery horde In your frozen melancholy… Like white letters on white— I'm invisible, I'm everywhere.

Where the mist veils a sarafan on jasper, The poplar and the osier will intertwine their trunks. The mead of thoughts will turn to fluff— Words will fly, but not out loud. The day promises, trembling with silence, To hold two souls on one shoulder, To swarm a hive of lips in four hands— The day promises, it promises to be.

One morning at dawn I went out to see the lighthouse

A lone wolverine— night—lies beneath the windows. I have an independent role for him from the director in my basket of fear. Seven deaths, as they say, are never meant to be, but there were, yes. To become wiser and greater than I once was. In the mornings, when it's so chilly, I'll wrap myself in our temple, and my dog's paw will put everything in its place.

The rain rustles. The windows melt. Darkness falls. A golden sparkle in a drop— Little orphan. Lost in the storm, It will end its journey on the glass. It radiates loneliness, Wastes its golden essence.