Hello, Wulf, my friend!
Come here in the winter,
Yes Yazikova poet
Drag me to a
Walk-top sometimes,
Shoot a gun.
Lajon, My brother curled
(St. Michael's not the clerk),
bring us, right, treasure ...
What? - bottles full box.
Zapiruem too, silent!
Miracle - recluse life!
In Troegorskom to night,
And in the Michael before daybreak:
Days devoted to love,
Night reign glasses,
We - the terminally drunk
The dead love.
