| At 14, I was ready to answer everything
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| At 14, I saw all the subtleties of the world,
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| Deep Purple and Brezhnev, poems by Pasternak,
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| A careless word, and immediately a fight,
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| And every acquaintance was a genius - or a goat.
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| At 24 I knew how to be responsible for the market,
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| He wrote some nonsense, and not a line back.
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| Pride, tour, debility Fenki,
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| And the first children, and the first money,
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| And instead of love, endless fun excitement.
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| At 34 I whispered and broke into a scream,
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| Still broadcasting something, because he was used to it,
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| But there were not enough answers,
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| And the air became dense, like wet cotton wool,
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| And my long tongue dangled more and more uselessly.
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| And at 44 I barely open my mouth,
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| My wisdom has shriveled like grass under the snow,
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| And it's hard for me to answer my own children,
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| Where do those children come from
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| And it is not at all clear what schaz is equal to twice two.
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| But next to me my excuse grows,
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| Someday my son will save me from ignorance,
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| Friends say he is smart beyond his years,
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| And soon I will come to him for an answer,
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| At 14, he will be able to answer for everything. |