Пишу тебе

I am writing you in three country,
My long journey.
Years spent, people passed,
Again, I am living the wrong way.

I am writing to you in three of his staff,
My main adventure.
I go on the bottom, as if on dry land,
And the world is once again floating on the river.

I am writing to you first thing
That has been lost.
I write about white-Nabeul,
And I do not knock on wood.

That has not yet begun,
And it is unclear when the call,
I am writing to you in black and rough -
I hope for tsezhu ounces.

I am writing you in three space
My secret opposition.
I'm in the land without a compass to Church
And checks Sea Classics.

I saw three of the eternal city,
And in each of them - Caesar
I wrote three doves -
Doves shot censors.

There is green, but not young,
Time passes, the procession,
I am writing to you in three hunger
For seven colds Celsius.

I am writing to you for three rounds,
My shaky truce.
In my holster something matured,
But I do not understand what it was.

But I see the galleys with ulcers,
And in the shadow of the other, as if I was in a niche.
And my eyes like a clear,
But black magic reigns in the brain.

Miracles too warlike
And in the course of walking on water.
Here, for each of the three truths,
And all one astray.

I am writing you is illegible -
And not Caesar, not a clerk.
I sing to you in tiny handwriting,
Caustic mess, bitter beads.

I am writing on the village of my grandfather -
I amused creative freedom.
For my soul - a lack of money
Yes hateful theomachism.

I'm back to back - the same like,
A face to face - so I did not.
I call on you in three country,
My worst comeback ...

My paper ends.
Continues distance.
I am writing to you contrary to expectation
Out of desperation - repentance.