The soap moon
Ýñòðèí Âëàäèñëàâ
Take off your hands from my wound
Turn off the blinding light
I want to lie on the ground
Despite the reasons to fight
Shut off the deafening sound
It makes me closer to stroke
I wish to figure out
Why air smells like smoke
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Ýñòðèí Âëàäèñëàâ
, 2020
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