On the ruins of Christmas
Under the Rumour of Words
It will be hard to extract silverware of Polish silverware
This world-famous conversion to ladies
Under the ruins of the law
How else to save the trampled canvas that
used to be a flag on the mast of national pride
And the oak table burned down long ago.
When we ate in the dark night
One - Time Bread of Hope and Tears
bitter as vodka despair
Like bombing national education
Keep in head the travelers of history
For whom there was no empty space at the table
All we have left is simply a black pot of stubbornness.
- The barely smokin' wick
Like the coal that we starch heaven's desperate letters:
‘Marana tha’
