The song of the tramp

      
     An unshakable tramp of this mihasna to Earth; he puts his coat together with needle showers on his face and goes on gritting! Kneeling-blowing, roaring winds blow into the eyes of tearful Calvary! The firm confessions of his wounded soul can be humbled to tears! It forces insidious evils, committed, brazen sins, to account! - He still goes to the tramp and is not reluctant to arrest human objects either; indifferent, phlegmatic texts would rock the crumbs of Truth witnessing in his soul! In his fallen eyes, he carries a Judgment woven from a branch of blood lilies against traitorous bitangers!
      
     His face is still a long-forgotten Stranger! Trembling in the fog! As a deliverer from the ancient depths of caves, the silly does not interfere with Being; as the Hermit Prophet listens and gathers into himself the experience that has taken place of facts! "Black, melancholy herds are trampling on your aching stigma wounds!" His tempers, which fall into silence and beat to the soles of his hands, are still in store before the strained explosion! He reserves words to deliver the fear of fall only to the eternal Universe!
      
     My pleasure creeps behind the coat shadow! Woe to the Winners now! - his judgment creeps! All the supplies of adolescence were taken from him! The chicory wreath of anecdotes is no longer watered by the immortal Dear! He never wanted to crash into the camp of skewers who swallowed skewers with infallible faith! "The tramp goes on: he's a raging native and a staring stranger, he's the only one in the Guardians' camp!" On the cross of immeasurable times, it revolves around the gears of eternal self-repetitions…