"С.М.Печкин Кавдаллор, крысиный король. Трагедия" - читать интересную книгу автора

The sad insideness that I bore
Within according to my fate -
To bear but not to tolerate.
Oh, madness rest between her breasts!
I'd give you better place to rest!
It's in my brain - they're ready now
To melt the skull with fretful glow.
Come, I don't care, it's never mind
Since everything have left behind.
I'm merely now a living dead.
If even I am not as mad
As it's enough for you to dwell -
I'm going madder now so well
With every moment of delay
Of the long-waited funeral day.
The God of Love! The God of Dark!
The God of Blood! The God of Fuck!
The God of red hot tight wet Womb!
Forgive me in my shallow tomb!
Thou art almighty power alone!
The sin of shameful shyness shown
Thou canst forgive if only wish;
Restore me as thy sacriliege!
Consume me with thy holy ring!
But thou'st accursed my filthy sting;
Thou made me thy condemned foe,
That is the cause of hopeless woe.
And nothing in the swarming worlds
Now can suspend the death that swirles
High in the sky like leaden cloud;
Here comes an hour; he's laughing 'loud...
I'm sick of dying and that disease,
I know, can get no mean to ease,
No remedy...


Манускрипт VII (Последний).

... Я пришел к тебе с приветом
рассказать, что солнце встало,
что оно горячим светом
по листам затрепетало,
не минуя также стебли
и цветы, и частью корни
травянистого растенья,
чья измолотая масса,
просушенная на солнце,
поутру затрепетавшем,
крайне ценится в народе
той страны, отсель далекой,