And all the time I can’t get away from this music, music, music, it’s everywhere. You know I have nowhere to fall. My documents are lost, the War Commissariat consider me a deserter, neither warlike nor registered, one introduction from the hospital, there is a tea stain on them; the documents could have been sent to me orally, but in the grave he saw my difficulties; but in general we will be honest once in our lives; the f**k did I give up the documents, where do I go with them?
Oh these sunny streets, these hares. I went there, I went here. The same everywhere. I got disappointed, I spat. Somehow we will survive. I came home, wanted to drink tea, I got out the tea leaves and suddenly got dreadfully unhappy. What did Mum do with the tea, that it was possible to drink it? In summer black
