From the lyrics of this summer As if all relatives in the country; as if long and tired I am going to them by train from the August Station; The city is pink and dusty, Friday evening, sunset. I take a closer look - no one sees, or see But they are silent. Meanwhile, it is already quite a little, or more, than quite Something stretches like this, either super, or not, Something most of all the fear, obscuring the light, Hellish circuits and colors, for which there is no word.