Russian Ballad after Alexander Vazenmiller

When there’s no sun in the blue sky,

And rain and snow mixed together,

Then the mood, of course, is shamed.

It’s  not to hell, it's no secret neither .

You look for every simple reason,

So as not to pour yourself a drink.

And in the subconscious somewhere mission

You see a clear  drawn pict .

Where is the white and fragrant bread,

With a crispy crust, under white butter,

Cholesterol?.. Yes, it's not sad

When it's not often in the carte.

And thin slices of lard yellow ,

That melt so slowly in the mouth,

Like the first snowflakes are falling,

It's unbearable to restrain your stomach.

Add a clove of garlic, take,

No more, just a clove, charge.

And the taste changes so much,

That the clouds simply become fade.

You take potato in a jacket 

And peel the skin with a  sword

The smell flows through the apartment,

I'll give it away to the neighbors.

And finally, in conclusion,

Soaked  acerb watermelon, 

Not pickled, not from a barrel,

Where there's cherry leaf and dill, and mint.

And malt at the root, so that it's ended 

And you've already reached be well.

And to hell with the reddish caviar,

Mollusks, may they promptly disappear,

We're in Russia, not in t’East there

It's high time for all of us to be sure .

We have water from springs,

Choose as much land as you want,

And if there is a paradise in the world,

It must for sure be the same thing

My friend's phone isn't answering again.

Has he really ordered to live long?

But how can I overcome my loss?

Losing your friends is an unwritten enactment