Two fighters

Forward, Boshirov and Petrov, the heroes of the troubled years. Above you the homeland of the cover, you are smoky trace

When Boshirov and Petrov, they fought each other, was poisoned so that he was healthy, Sergei Skripal, and the cops, damn them, were lying a fool, when they followed the door with a “newcomer” bottle, carrying out their blitzkrieg, as they commanded the power, it happened to them for a short moment under the cells. Now the portraits of these two, Britain is rude, Lavrov ridicules aloud, and the leader to himself - but these are signs of the court, almost his finale. I never saw them, but immediately found out: this convex chest and a hollow brow ... We will not betray them by no means. Ha ha, what else! Do you have to explain the simplest materiel? They can be tracked, filmed, distributed, curse, but neither Mr. nor Musye will catch these two. How can I give out a Russian spirit? Sens it - yes. And that's it.

Oh, as I know these two! So life itself smells of itself: the spirit of expectations, the spirit of devastation, and grief from the mind! How it smells of ash and ash, non -residential desert, where the investigator is evil on the left, and on the right is also evil! I will learn everything more correctly, as on the door bracket, their prints on their work and fate. What am I there - insignificant ashes, a core of a large candle! The fate of the Fatherland in their hands growing from (silent). Two eternal friends, two fighters in the invisible armor, beaten by Molya Slonets, but still quite - I recognized them so many times on all my ways, in the networks spread out on us, as well as in social networks!

Two faithful friends without names, as usual in the Cheka, Petrov and Vasechkin from the time of the Chekist hook, in the appearance of ordinary Urla, however, meanwhile, the model of the two -headed eagle, Eurasia, tandem - note that they are always together, as a word and motive, in the dual appearance of Russia, embodied. Like that Ravshan - and with him Jamshut, or maybe Russian Gleb; Like a shield and a sword, a “king and a jester”, like a bow and black bread, like a chuke and hek, saffron and pilaf, a glass and semi -stiff, Jewish Ilf and our Petrov (Petrov! Everywhere Petrov!). They wander to Sobyaninskaya Moscow and Mountain Teberda, strong, like an organ of a ladder of a young one, one with a square head, the other with a beard, carry a vibrant bottle with a lively and with dead water.

Forward, Boshirov and Petrov, the heroes of the troubled years. Above you is the birthplace of the cover, you follow you a smoky trace. A hybrid eternal battle awaits you, it will not be completed. Your debt is the Arkhangelsk pipe to stun and put the Russian flag on the snake’s lair to our today's Reichstag, where Teresa May is waiting.