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)