| Don't breathe on me and don't squeeze your chest; |
| I'm tired and limp and a little,
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| Just a little I want to take a break from your scandals, from your drunken friends,
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| drunken fumes and other bruises and hanygs.
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| And from tobacco smoke, white tulle gives off yellowness.
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| And the door was greasy, the way they take it with their hands when they come here in a crowd.
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| Not caressed, but soaked like a hanyga, dull-eyed, red face.
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| There is a tattered book on the table.
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| And the room is dirty, and it stinks of urine, like in a garbage dump.
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| And in the thieves' frenzy the prostitutes sing, and in the morning the drinkers shake.
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| Heaven on earth in a bottle, at three to ten the price, like hiccups from a hangover, she passes.
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| And the lousy creature, in order to be given a sip, will whine.
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| Clings, caressing, jokingly, smiling, flattering, crawling on all fours and, wheezing,
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| sobbing, screaming:
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| And like a faithful whore, in what my mother gave birth to, I will sing and dance,
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| Yes, pour it - so what's the matter?!"
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| And after taking a sip from her throat, her eyes clouded, and she crawled around the corners.
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| There is a whole mess on the table, and flowers fell: meadow daisies from a jar are not for beauty,
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| There is simply nothing to drink this terribly trashy Rizol with.
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| One whore got drunk and yelled some nonsense, calmed down only and called with her,
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| when someone said:
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| "I'm your husband". |