What's a confusion in the tower?
What's make a noise among the mob?
So everything keeps under cover
And everything begins a job.
It's like a hunting for the deer
In gloomy thickets of the world.
The papers often press us here
And there's no exit from the bolt.
We wanna vanish to wherever,
We wanna hide ourselves in vain.
But count's horses catch us ever
And we'll be slaves of jobs again.
A Job
© Copyright: Юрий Розвадовский, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108022300552
Свидетельство о публикации №108022300552
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