I Am Not One Of Those Who

You Will Hear Thunder And Remember Me, And Think: She Wanted Storms. The Rim Of The Sky Will Be The Colour Of Hard Crimson, And Your Heart, As It Was Then, Will Be On Fire.

The Celebrations Of Secret Nonmeetings Are Empty, Unspoken Conversations, Unuttered Words. Glances That Don't Intersect Don't Know Where To Come To Rest. And Only The Tears Rejoice Because They Can Flow And Flow. Sweetbrier Around Moscow, Alas! Somehow It Is Here ... And All This They Will Call Love Eternal.

Song Falls Silent, Music Is Dumb, But The Air Burns With Their Fragrance, And White Winter, On Its Knees, Observes Everything With Reverent Attention.

Let Whoever Wants To, Relax In The South, And Bask In The Garden Of Paradise. Here Is The Essence Of North—and It's Autumn I've Chosen As This Year's Friend.

Forgive Me, That I Manage Badly, Manage Badly But Live Gloriously, That I Leave Traces Of Myself In My Songs, That I Appeared To You In Waking Dreams.