On idet uzhe dvadtsat' piat' let,
On idet prosto tak, v nikuda
Ne imeia voprosa, on ne ishchet otvet,
Esli veter - to sneg, esli dozhd' - to voda
On idet ot sebia, vozvrashchaias' k sebe,
Kak budto kuda-to spesha
I vse ego sny s interesom k vesne
Spressovany v gramm gashisha
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