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Let there be Monday today, but you have already been tired of unused; Glass glasses - as always fell; Only from the street, all in the rain, as if it is from the next poster of the week; Correct the fleet weekend for the frequency of the idea.

Listen, how much sky did you see through your "minus three", forever sliding on the nose? Maybe it's not about you - shop windows, lights, traffic lights: it's too quickly sweeping ... frown, as always, through the prism of ridicule, in an attempt to get out of the pitchfish between the Lunch and another farce: in habit of casually; Everything mows.

Listen, maybe not here you live at all, not somewhere between the ninth and first, and above, where does the lamp turn from the lamp, the dawn comes so rarely on the roofs? In the clothes are hiding only the body, and the soul will forget on the windowsill somewhere in the calendar last year's; Now after all, in fashion, shouting the bare, without thinking about "today", do not flush back the film of the time, where someone was not "someone" someone, but the world. But what do we care: forget, throw in "no matter" a marked archive.

So what is next? To wander again along countless streets in the idiotic hope to meet you, rubbing your eyes from fatigue and late hour, like then on the staircase, where the time seemed to be frozen once or two? Two. Two, but not "we", well, the hell with him, you don't have any things - too worried and sincerely do not understand that one day the star was lit, and you are destroyed in a childish, as if every emotion in our world gets free and okay.

Everything goes, one day you can solve, I know, just enough to laugh. You do not like, I know, so it happens twice: either you do not like, or trite "throw". All fairy tales have long been written to the scoundrels back and forth, in a ridiculous attempt to make believe that "what if it happens?", And rush; To assure yourself in countless lies again and again, and, at night, having walked around without sleep, watch how the star tramples. I know "happens."

It makes no sense to get you more. I agree with you only, wait. I remember .. I remember myself until the meeting with you. Something beats in the window; It seems to be rain, if not in the soul; And so too much knocked down a deaf rider between the ribs tightly. I will write fast in the diary and heart: "not occupied." After all, today is not Monday, everything is right? ..