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< Misha Campfires



The world crumbles into dust.

I - dust (still smoldering)

I - senile fear

. With shaking hands

Himself resurrect

Korvalola - "knock, knock» -

I'm still early in the night

Go for a cherished steps

For hundreds of doors,

But no one of my

That for which you

Waiting to ask for mercy,

Writer my despair.

And maybe, just afraid?

I'm afraid I have, more than happy,

Always put under the pillow

Drops of Life (that's life!)

And the thermometer -

To torment myself further -

All my little ...

Finish the scenario would

Yes, quietly, in his sleep to find

The door to the happy time of ignorance,

Where we were first path.