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The guys around them were smiling.
-No, I will not.
So that I die if it is not so! – and Sergey firmly embraced Slavik.

-Hey you ! There was no rebound! – laughed Sasha Kalinichev.
-OK OK.
– Sergey let go of Slavik and lit another cigarette, – Slav, let’s get something else.
Is it a dream come true? -Type of this.
-Okay.
Let’s try.
And this is what he sang to them: The Oriole cries for the last time – Farewell – in the autumn silence.
I left my fatherland and hurt me.
You are my abandoned land, you are my wasteland.
Weeping together, abandoned, forest and monastery.
And nowhere else they beat the bells, there is no cross on the domes.
And about honor they sing – false lips.
Again they drink, they fight, they cry, cursing sadness.
Old Russia, dear Russia, I pray for you.

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I PRAY.
Forgive me. Ohmibod webcam tube. My Russia is a wasteland.
Old maple and steppe, forest and monastery.
Forgive me for my drunken sadness, For this weakness.
I’ll be back.
Wind free sing me a song about the earth – it still keeps The warmth of my soul – and my soul hurts.
An oriole is crying somewhere, crying in the midst of birch trees, Those eyes full of tears, I took it with me.
I LOOK OUT.
Forgive me, Holy Russia.
Forgive me for the intoxicating sadness.
Forgive me for a glass of wine, For this weakness, which is not joy, not joy.
– Yes, well, you reassured us.
– Andrei Orlov shook his head, – What a dream now.
“You are on purpose,” Slavik smiled, “I will sing like that before dawn.”
“No, it’s better to spend time before dawn with more benefit,” said Seryozha, and they all gaggled together, “Sing us the last, and that’s all.
– Exactly the last? – Slavik inquired, slyly squinting at the guys.
-Yes Yes Yes.
– all yelled at once.
-Well, God is with you, persuaded.

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Listen up
“My white birds”, the words of Kostya Nikolsky.
Folk music.
Performed – Burlakova Frosya.
That is – performs – Slavik Shakhov.
All laughed.
Slavik sang: Storms and blizzards overcame the ground, My white birds flew to the sun.
Along the lost tracks, Hurry to the edge far away, To the edge far away, hard way, To the bright sunny years.
Find my joy, What a grief is lost.
Bring a song to me About born spring.
Find the ray that covered the clouds And the spring of living water gives the gardens water.
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