Daniel Gimaev - Five brilliant artifacts of a mysterious programmer

You’ll be a lady riding a Ferrari,

Arrange evenings in restaurants,

The ministers are eager to visit you,

And you’re walking home from the store alone.

Mom can I have a dog,

I’ll feed her meat,

He plays, I’ll wash it,

I’ll call it a funny nickname.

Sylvester, come on, follow me,

You have a new owner,

A connoisseur of all sorts of suburbs,

Now, pretty boy, you’re mine.

If you want, we’ll drive the ball,

If you want, I’ll treat you to a chicken.

Don’t be sad, you’re a good friend,

We will go through time.

Why, you’re your own breed,

You don’t honor me, you’re such a prankster,

Just like me, you’re soaking wet,

Come on, make a path.

Tell me, how much are the seeds,

No, I won’t buy it, I don’t have any money,

The poet’s whole soul,

Penny bills,

I’ll feed them to tick,

The seed is asking for it.

I’ll throw them to the pigeons,

What the dove-colored ones are cooing,

And then, I’ll take them myself,

I’ll sell it in layers,

Societies of Readers,

Souvenirs of memory.

In a word, my pain, I can not calm,

And do not erase the soot from the heart,

So why should I stand there again?

Forgive me for being nice, I’ll tell you.

Laugh when-all the crows,

To peck at the sod and olive trees,

Gathered, at the idleness in the parties,

Feathers will fly for the funeral.

After all, stronger than the wind, only gray,

Wolves, near the ground in the snow snuggled up, alas,

to treat them with bread from their hands, and loyal,

Fangs please, only I am harsh.

Why do I need decay when my soul is not old?

Why diamonds, when diamonds,

Size and color, pleases my eyes,

Lord, so forgive me for my talent.

That Satan with His most pure rays,

I got it into my head, as if he was the strongest of all,

Lord, I’m sorry that the angel of light is nice to me,

That the raven couldn’t see through the veil.

Lord, forgive me and save my soul,

To live as on the outskirts of your village,

And so as not to punish, for all the blizzard,

The enemy is only strong when there is a blizzard

Small is bigger than big,

Like a king more than a king,

Without pawns, you are like before God,

Well, and with the elephant, so-Gogol.

Debut-beginning-of-bad,

To expect, so it’s a kobold,

Hard, tense, in a word,

The enemy of good is not a puncture.

And pawns are a stringy move,

Which the miss will take away,

This is a bun with a layer of butter,

So that you don’t think you’re knocked up.

What is your word worth,

And what stands on the vine,

Can a word be like cloth,

I’ll point my finger, you’re in the shit,

You’ll turn, I can’t,

You’re funny, not harsh,

There is no work in your word,

I want to deviate,

It’s not worth talking about.

The law is harsh, and we are idle,

We’re all getting old, dying,

We break and come back to life,

We want to go back, these are,

But there is a law, he does not hear,

Arguments and thoughts,

He has his own calculation for this,

As if having once sinned,

Repeat as soon as we find out,

Maybe you’re under oath,

But it hasn’t changed yet,

And you’ll have fun.

All ages are submissive to love,

Both young and old he is,

But there are no such facts and times,

Which we can’t control.

Only a man in love,

Goes to his death, and backhands,

Beats his chest like a macaque,

There is a love primrose in it.

It will pass and be remembered,

Days, their happy turn,

But there will be no sadness-it,

It just feels like reality.

Pedestrians walk along the streets,

And there are gases from turbines, slags, a mixture,

What a nice day it was, winter,

And there are kids walking around, but the workshop.

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