Not true, injustice, I'm in love with a storm,
I love you, wind, a carrier sheet,
And in my last hour, a funeral,
I get up from the grave and will, like you!
I'm afraid you do not, about, child, hurricane!
Not you, My oldest child, winter!
I'm afraid of sudden stab wounds…
So maybe wounded - only she… only very…
Alone - and gentle soul unattainable,
And incomparably beautiful face white…
But she'll kill you, the old man, –
And nobody knows, that the storm was…
