Heaven on horseback at the autumn parade The dough is kneaded from those nominated for the award. And they're lying about the war...

I live on the scales in this quality of the year, My song, of course, is of the rainy kind, My song is neither sung nor performed.

My song is a response to the letters of Anna and Lisa; Wind spray hangs on the wet eaves. Spring gathered them with her lips, and she disappeared.

I will crawl to the road with trouble on my shoulders. Dying is nothing if you drink a little. But our “I” prevents you from leaving you.

Where there are dangers and delirium, there are living graves, We are raised with pitchforks for our loyalty and bread. This fall we are paying for electricity.

We dance on turns, turns for centuries, And there is no end for anyone, even those who are not with us, Our song is with you in the clouds.

And so far nothing, nothing has happened. Yesterday I still remembered that I dreamed of life. This fall she became...

And if all around is nothing but dashing, And if everything around is too thin, Love us all, Lord, quietly, Love us all, Lord, loudly.

Sometimes our lives become overgrown with flowers. This means, my friend, He passed between us... But it's not easy to see him.

And if all around is nothing but dashing, And what is familiar to us is too subtle, Love us all, Lord, quietly, Love us all, Lord, loudly. Love us all, Lord, quietly, Love us all God… DDT