Blues

Plots are no more - empty boxes
Mad look, a sleepless pain in the temple.
What is left in me this
Is not to guess at the patterns on his arm.

Where does this sickness in the mood?
I do not want. Scattered empty house.
Five shelves of books - one solid genius
Bottle, Telecom, Internet - sucks.

And you come, without you I miss you,
Spark went out and sat charger.
And if I had to matters not so tormented,
I used myself to you today has arrived.