Translated material
Methane
Dmitry Bykov: “He drinks with half a minute to Brudershaft, and he burns a half -minute”
The year was bad: the closed portal,
Wipe to no avail.
No one had already fed hopes
He did not dilate, did not believe in the course of the course.
He tortured the best in the cells,
And the medium -sized abroad was sweeping away,
But the substance of the era is not metal,
And gas methane without smell and taste.
Fitness of impudent swamps,
Not oxygen, not hydrogen sulfide,
And a slow, invisible poisoner,
Creeping, like a different coup,
All the stupidity of the heads and beards,
Snowiness and boredom the patron.
We drove it into every nook,
They filled the northern stream
Pumped into a grumbling company,
They let them on the neighbors to be honored.
He rolls like an asphalt rink,
On everyone who imagines to leave their six:
He is the leader, hero, greatness of the source,
History is the result, Tse ASh four.
He is a cadaveric gas of the swollen land,
He was inaudible to the throne,
He is sung by the court confused
He rules, he lets the bubbles
He is eternal, no matter how he call him
He denies everything that does not have methane!
He is the spirit of rot, he is a murderer of mines,
He settled a meek landscape,
He gurgles in rustling reeds,
The swamp whisper, floods, grunts.
He is the prince of substances, the omnipotent padishah,
Nobody can interfere with him
He drinks a half -world to Brudershaft,
And he burns the lungs with a half -minute.
Inhabitants of marshy lands
Then they were saved, who knew how and how:
Who drank from the pig hooves,
Who was plunged into an impenetrable hops
Who hesed his favorite overcoat ...
But the main thing was methane.
And he accumulated.