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Death of a nation - Меня зовут Тролль, Диматролль
September 4th, 2003
12:05 am

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Death of a nation
My day was of little interest. My main accomplishment was going to the INS and getting done with the whole lost green card saga. I had to get there by six AM though. So I was sleepy ever on. Nothing extraordinary happened after that. The most exciting part must have been Business Russian where I developed a new type of a missle - a cluster bomb filled with nuclear waste. So I was supervising two people who were actually writing the business plan for producing and selling these. Good stuff. Oh yeah, got free food in Haas too. Missed my promised call to Emma. Had work when I promised to call. I left her a message. She should get it next year.
Due to the lack of an adequate translation I will have to leave the Russian version here. Those who really need help, you may try asking.

И днём и ночью лишь она передо мной,
И не Мадонне я молюсь, а ей одной.
Стой! Не покидай меня безумная мечта!
В раба мужчину превращает красота.
И после смерти мне не обрести покой,
Я душу дьяволу отдам за ночь с тобой.

Quiet a feeling it is I must say. Or maybe its just my sorry excuse to keep breating.

Current Mood: sleepysleepy
Current Music: Smile - Seti (russianrock.com)

(3 comments | Leave a comment)

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From:azazello
Date:September 4th, 2003 08:05 am (UTC)
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The sweet smell of a great sorrow lies over the land
Plumes of smoke rise and merge into the leaden sky:
A man lies and dreams of green fields and rivers
But awakes to a morning with no reason for waking

He's haunted by the memory of a lost paradise
In his youth or a dream he can't be precise
He's chained forever to a world that's departed
It's not enough it's not enough

His blood has frozen & curdled with fright
His knees have trembled & given way in the night
His hand has weakened at the moment of truth
His step has faltered

One world, one soul
Time pass, the river rolls

It's not enough it's not enough
His hand has faltered
.... .... ......

And he talks to the river of lost love and dedication
And silent replies that swirl invitation
Flow dark and troubled to an oily sea
A grim intimation of what is to be

There's an unceasing wind that blows through this night
And there's dust in my eyes, that blinds my sight
And silence that speaks so much louder that words,
Of promises broken
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From:deema
Date:September 4th, 2003 11:22 pm (UTC)
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Good poem, but not about me.
From:emidala
Date:September 5th, 2003 06:35 pm (UTC)
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will hear it december 12. call me here instead.
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