On white sheets

< Leah Altukhova

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On white sheets instead of grass,
With the hope of return loss ...
I'll remember you this ...
We are sinners - we're both to blame

. We were intoxicated fresh summer herbs,
And the wind whispered to me your name.
Ironic night my self-deception,
But only his ever forward now.

I will return the city of my friends,
Cools the blood, hay disappear bitterness,
Increases freshness and silent fields,
Enthusiasm these days and this midnight.

A return to them in the night and you,
Leaving town crucified me.
On white sheets instead of grass,
With the hope of return loss ...

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