What waits to be done,
What needs to be said
Is getting me run,
Is driving me mad.
This terrible night,
All hopes passed away.
There is a light
But it brightens the day
Though now it is night,
The terrible way,
The days won't be bright
We shall pass away
To places beyond
Our desperate world
To land that is cold
And haven't been told.
iliks@pochtamt.ru (Ilya Palopezhentsev)