When the war broke out it was winter and it was in February. The storm continued, continued... Don't read any more. Read it and jump over the bell tower on a cold, damp night. Remember this moment, remember and don't be quiet and don't be quiet. 33 33 And the darkness in the darkness will sound hell, and the wind will rot in the summit. February will turn all fairy tales, earthly poetry into dust. The princess will walk around with a torch, the poet will shout. The song will explode and forever - the column will fly. After all, nothing heals and burns the whole world with fire and # 33; Words enter your heart, into your liver, stuck in your skull. Words about what is not in vain, ignoring the whirlwind of man, in the Crimean region, Popsana, death occurs with a soldier. Words are frozen breasts, words burning in the ground. Time will continue, from February to February. Where Karamanaya, a soldier who is tired of hijacking the Earth, will target and give his only life to God. He will be old and pitiless, wrinkled, with a toothless mouth. A country forgotten by history, Magda, an army, a regiment. Everything twists, twists, shoots. There is darkness in the heart. There are flying witches on broomsticks, but you have to get up and take a step. (not so strong) He will run forward for some reason. Of him, Atlas, they will not make films, Shaman will not sing spiritually. In the bonds of bent reinforcement, frozen on a broken brick, it will become an acronym. Three letters: BVP May the sun shine brightly, giving peace and joy to all. The soldier world won't notice, but you and I will.