Charamelon Three nights of blizzard And white dust The wind blows To the forest, to the pashma, to the meadow It's better to run away To run away, to run away To run away, where? To the same place To the same place, to the same place After all, everything is so similar to the horror To the letter, to the line, to the comma And from the tribune to the circle To the nose lies the water of speech My native superpower The servant of merchants, of traders And on the snow, like on a page On a page not yet touched with a pen At night I dream more and more Someone is being chopped with an axe The plains are endless Longing cuts the teeth We are buried in Russia In the blue of her snow
