Mystagogia
"what is your wishing?
my little child, my little idiot
didn't you listen to cross-eyed man?"
"as you may know",
whispered the deranged father,
"inveterate dreamers
have the most fragile belief in life
they're chain-smokers by nature
and with grim rise of urbanization
in the end they only follow
the cold wave to Norilsk"
so I ask again:
"dear mademoiselle
dear chatelaine
dear mistress of nonchalance
aren't your exploits a little bit foolish?
aren't you going a little bit mad?"
and through the amused laugh
the sinister answer follows:
"aren't we all mad here, my dear?"
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