Language: Russian
This is Babelpop's one hundredth post. I had hoped to do something more, you know, special for the occasion, but I never got any very good ideas for what to do, and very likely wouldn't have had time to do anything if I had gotten a good idea. So here we are.
-Jessi
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A woman on the radio had a talk about the turn:
"When will it be?" It already is.
Bob Dylan didn't need this: he had to ripen.
(Which was about you.) Well, you know how it feels to be lively.
I awaited it after I was living, and
I was living, and I awaited it.
Right here, now this, right?
I'll be there, no other place.
I'm right (I want to be.).
Which rights are here now,
watching peace's wake? Get up, history.
I was inside the decade when it seemed,
"I'll blink my eyes: peace could change to
nothing." And, if that -- after this, here
is the sign thereof: your Times.
Afterward, I was living, and I awaited, as
I was living. And I awaited . . . this?
Right here? Right now?
I awaited it after I was living, and
I was living, and I awaited it.
Right here, now this, right?
I'll be there, no other place.
I'm right (I want to be.).
Which rights are here now,
watching peace's wake? Get up, history.
Will you straighten it, right now?
You are here; there is no other. I want this place to be . . . .
I have rights here (right now.)
Wake up from watching the history of peace!
Will you straighten it, right now?
You are here; there is no other. I want this place to be . . . .
I have rights here (right now.)
Wake up from watching the history of peace!
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