< Felix Komarov
Will be born a man - it is a disease,
Lead is known to be death.
This is not the philosophy of existential abyss.
And no way out of the whirlwind.
History of the disease is known to all,
From recession to an exacerbation.
And will not help proof theorems,
The fact that life is fun.
Morning is wiser, and the night drunk.
Pain relief is replaced.
And it goes to the pitcher without bottom.
And leaves the river.
What remains - just live
When hurt his teeth.
God does not send too.
When the holiday is singing in the shower,
It is necessary to forget about the pain.
And not to throw in a curve,
Even left golyu.
Each carries its burden.
There is no place here for justice.
Who lives in hell who are in heaven,
Who lifted up by grace.
And for whom life is a chain of torments,
With short intervals.
At the bottom of hell will hear a knock
And devils cry piteously.
Each Morse code breaks do not count.
In the minutes of the universe.
That's the good news,