Not for the weather behind the line is frosty,
And for the soul - a crossroads summer,
In my tea leaves - clouds and stars,
And I'm not afraid of any gossip.
Although humility in me is a monk,
But I know how to conjure a little,
And putting on his suit yesterday,
Under the hood I hide the golden horns.
And so much magic in a black dress,
His mystery hides a holiday,
With piousness my mind is twisted,
Although behind the curtain - I happen to be different.
A monk righteous can not fall in love,
But only in the cell I feel at night,
What is so gambolously clawing hooves
From these thoughts are adventurous very.
He nods his head with a gray hair,
Reading the lines from the words,
Sins washing away my living water,
But only the horns grow back again.
Sin and repent - what a miracle,
When the aroma of cherries is everywhere ...
And today I'm going to be a sinner again,
Let him throw a stone, who is still sinless.