Sparks from the anvil lifted on wings
swept, bonfires lit
overflights storms and storm bearing
All are then woke shimmering fumes thunder path

Called, were coming horns
veda wisdom crimson coals
And found intoxicated showers absurd
on a golden meadow Tavlya
mature, showed white hands lifted ash
tearing through the night and found the rocks
only a sprinkling of silence prophetic signs

Crossroads dilapidated dispel his cry
first memory in a hurry to grasp
Splits shutters blow shield
sharp eye not point the veil
is not the features of the bridge is not

Called, were coming horns
veda wisdom crimson coals
And found intoxicated showers absurd
on a golden meadow Tavlya
mature, showed white hands lifted ash
tearing through the night and found the rocks
only a sprinkling of silence prophetic signs

Shake the sound of an obscure forgotten firmament
shakes, do not be sorry.

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