The angel on the spire of writhing, icy,the Sky low and day compressed.Neva pressed chilly bridges,Freeze water, the leaves tremble. Warm my fingers in his hands,Kiss when meeting the edge of the lips,I’m not one in which the pace is easy,I is excellent in that without you can not. I’m a free bird and you — well,today is the day to cuddle up close To if the court, if “Yes” and “no”,You could shield himself by saying “I’m with her.” But there is no judgment there, in the leaves of water,So, hands in his pockets, shoulders a scarf.But ran out of jokes, Yes is Yes,And the earth from the cold — the cube, not the ball. It means to wait, then, rosary step.So, hands in his pockets, shoulders a scarf.