Saint Vova

Another summer snowfall. Automatic bursts drown out words.
Where is my left felt boot, you bitch! I’m not asking you who you were confused with yesterday.
- He's on the right...
This is important in the sense of heredity - who inherited it, sort of shitted it.
They made up all sorts of words, 'Maromoies'. Smooth as a candy ass.
To fuck us, baby.
And how they closed the manifesto!
They showed the Russian Guard pink underpants, obscuring the ribbon with the word “death.”
So what gave us away? As usual: not even thoughts, but poses...
Aren't they your own kind of scumbags?
When every fourth person is fed by the godfather. Especially in the odd ranks.
Where they throw dandruff off their shoulders, drawing shoulder straps and imagining a star on the bottom of a glass.
The opera has all its moves written down. Like the letter "ge"
frantic drumbeat in December.
The past burns like an autogen, it stings. It's time to jump into the mud like a warty, slippery gray toad.
Unlock my handcuffs...
Please, - they say funny, - only for you, solely for courage,
and only one click. How is it?
Awesome, important citizen!

...The goners glow with holy dew: they are dying gloriously. And glory to Putin!
And then they lie, Jewish Freemasons, that we live in barracks.
Now they have taken over the fashion - to fuck everything of Russian's. Russian women have no way.
Saint Vova, the immortal saint. You are our God.
We pray to you, what about this fucking asshole, how is he? - 'Rastorguev'!
Who are we? Russian people, poor orphans.
Who gave birth to us? 'Grandmother Yoshka' with 'Kashchei Deathless'. And 'Martha Rasputnitsa' paired with Rasputin.
'Khuy' remember, by God...
Get lost, biting louse, don't be confused!
This is some tricolor bullshit. Pour the third one. Let's get out of grief...