Игорь Ржавин - Безмолвие кручин (притча)

One hundred knots are developing Refined feelings The horologist is grieving On the cusp of my success. I’m laying out the path, Blast me with the thunder of silence, Unbuttoning all the buttons Love has lightning bolts. Maybe I’ll get the trumps Drum up the rest of your life In a trained mess, Where is your council called, the Almighty.