They all make only cover,
Forget about soul.
They want music louder
In our town bowl.
The vanity fair -
Will be classic forever.
Wonderful pair!
I wait a letter.
We meets together,
Voice make a show.
Don't mind the weather:
Is not a blow.
Again and again
No things to feel.
Got down my brain,
I walk to the hill...
This is hill very strange:
There big yellow halls,
The rules never change
And big yellow walls.
But we again met,
Ride on fourteen seats.
I asked you to let
To stretch my feet.
Maybe final trip...
Praying to crash...
All this so cheap!
Am I right, Sgt. Bash?
And after this
I don't want to work.
Only rest, please.
Rest on Death rock.
Conditions of work
© Copyright: Владимир Кулаковъ, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110061000064
Свидетельство о публикации №110061000064
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