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Frost-bitten, snow-blinded, rags-cocooned (German POWs, they looked like that in war documentaries, when a spell of the blitzkrieg died in blizzards of Stalingrad) I shuttled streets of Moscow. Trapped in the present, I wove the future, Consumed with self-adoration and loathing I tried to find my way in the amazing big city, And drifted into the world of the old (aged over 20) I persisted in passing tests, and staying sane, And fending off Morpheus, and fighting fatigue. In the first semester of my freshman year I’ve scratched on a pane, "Phobos and Deimos". Добавить комментарий: |
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