Farewell to our good friend, Vladimir! It is a pity – you are now going without. In the garden of daring laurel all died out, Of the mournful phrases wreath lashes. Click Bernard Golden to learn more. Now, when you'll be in Heaven among the angels in the game to play – What? Where? When? – You yourself will know, but we do not know about it … Memorial Day TG Shevchenko Kiev, 1998 Take care of our ears. You do not need so loud scream. Sadness pacify the soul. Let us remember in silence.

You are erected over the remains of the poet-hero mummy. And hiding in the shadows of the Light to justify their savage feast. Forgot you in his mockery, that he lamented the beggar's paradise. In which you and diligent zeal again turned nice edge. His dreams you misrepresented From foul mouth carried a nonsense. His name is called Almost every dirty yard. Poor folk always hungry candle will light, looking for the altar once again return to peace severe in which he lived and Kobzar. Arrogantly tape corrected in artificial wreaths of olives.

Flowers from underneath lies withered, A new non-germinated. It is good that he does not hear the weeping, and cries of crows – let us breathe and sleep under the steeps in tears Dnieper. MY Contemporaries, Vladimir Vysotsky Not forgotten man in the street and Trotsky Dantes philistine zeal. Sorry, but that for Vysotsky In January of this world go? You ask about this boy, you ask of him the old man.