The finish of the night

< Misha Campfires




The finish of the night,

Conversations about the sorrows and senses - Cold, snow, thoughts,

That does not crumple, do not quit.

Absurd somehow, in two, empty,

It does not say, -. Mumbled drunkenly

Gaps in the sweaty shirts,

Not the blood of the letter, and saliva.

Sickle arms hugging your neck,

Ringing in the air to push northward,

There tumbled downed birds,

There's bullets did not dare to make mistakes.

We still find a way, it's all other people's - where not invited, hastily hid

. We love to recruit a full breast

And live through the night on the exhale, death.

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