60

To Stas Mikhailov

Big money like wind

Will fill the sails of dream.

But in reality who will win

In this battle of sugary freedom?

The sorrow of love is ever innocent,

Without consideration to be successful

And to accomplish good compliments

To look more beautiful.

The country of Russia is a strange land:

It has so many riches, so necessary,

It’s got a lot of gilded cupolas

And many drunk souls over nonsense.

And how many are there forsaken kids, old women and land?

As if sprouts of true love can spread themselves.