Reflections on Bolshoi Moskvoretsky

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A year ago, almost at the same time he was killed. They killed the way they were used to them, firing in the back. Why, why? He, after all, certainly did not stand in the way of their economic flows. They say the amount was 15 cartoons. For the whole flock, not very much.

I never treated this curly laboratory assistant seriously. As it was impossible, to anyone seriously from the Yeltsin Codla. They say he was even a successor of a great fool for some time. But he did not reach. Another more appropriate to the great conductor appeared.

And this is a pity. It is a pity, because, you can’t kill anyone. It is a pity, because he was truthful and free. It’s a pity, because he could spit and leave, would be alive now.

Recently, when he saw him on the screen, he felt some devastation in him. Like a drug addict. I associated this with the strongest drug, with the authorities.

He tried this drug, then he was taken from him. He remembered him and dreamed of someday to try again, but he also understood, of course, that he couldn’t sniff out, not injected, not to drag, not to drink.

It seems to me that life for him without this drug did not have much value, and therefore went openly, and therefore spat in the direction of the king and did not put his dogs in a penny.

Sorry. Still, a pity.

And the bridge is no longer large and not Moskvoretsky. His bridge, registered. And no one can take this bridge from him. And after the killers there will be not only a bridge, a decent need. One wolf anger. Yes, elongated jaws with sharp white fangs.

The soul will be like a butterfly for a long time

Circle over the flattened body,

Only in the morning will go out like a light bulb

He will fly to heaven - then live.

There in the sky she will try

Plunge into the rumbling world,

But the rope holding the curtain

Grinding the field commander.

They dance today, die,

In its hot animal circle

And they will leave their wild sorrow

On the dry Moscow snow.

On the mouth of their enemy pours rings

And swirls like smoke behind,

Although Rus' is full of praying persons,

But the devils warmed on his chest.

Do not grab me, then not me at all!

The law is packed in the funnel,

But on the contrary, having drunk revenge,

Ghosts will aim in us from the windows.

The night came up with lamented lamentations,

With a slight sob for selling bohemia,

Only the dead are identified by us,

But the killer is not recognized.

Again, the trouble will shine in the inflames,

The rumor will roll down down,

How he left the annoying holiday

In heaven, without saying goodbye, Boris.