Lips are twisted with a grimace of boredom, All the waves of rushes are crashed on rocks, There was left only a taste: infinity and emptiness Though a bitter glass of luxury is drunk completely.
At night, when hard, unbearable darkness Like shaggy black dog walks around the bed, In the embraces there are only one woman - the loneliness In the tattered hotel of broken soul.
She whispers and torments with a rattles of colours, Prostitutes and demons, bloody ghosts And seductive majos in witch style of goya;
And he, having lifted a sight from under gloomy forehead, Dived into the eternal vortex of human unrests To create bouquets with flowers of nightmarish evil.
