You Do Not Know Just What You've

This Cruel Age Has Deflected Me.

If You Were Music I Would Listen To You Ceaselessly And My Low Spirits Would Brighten Up.

In The Terrible Years Of The Yezhov Terror I Spent Seventeen Months Waiting In Line Outside The Prison In Leningrad. One Day Somebody In The Crowd Identified Me . . . And Asked Me In A Whisper . . . "can You Describe This?" And I Said: "i Can."

Now No One Will Listen To Songs. The Prophesied Days Have Begun. Latest Poem Of Mine, The World Has Lost Its Wonder, Don't Break My Heart, Don't Ring Out.

All That I Am Hangs By A Thread Tonight