| Lieutenant Colonel Matvey Sukhostrochenko
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| Arrived by train to the city of Moscow
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| Get an early raise
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| And live in the capital for real.
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| And Moscow, like a dissolute girl,
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| I offered my satisfaction,
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| Spreading a patchwork blanket
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| Kabakov, casino and cafe.
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| The lieutenant colonel entered the institution
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| Titled "The Last Shelter"
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| Where in the evening always with pleasure
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| Lieutenant colonels are loved and expected.
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| Waitress with eyes and waist
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| Doused with Chanel fragrance
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| And Matvey remembered Zhinka Natalia
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| And plunged the first cocktail into himself.
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| Suddenly the guitar exploded with chords,
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| And onto the stage with a shiny pole
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| A woman with magnificent forms came out
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| And a viciously shaped mouth.
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| And, sliding on the pole with buttocks,
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| Like a branch of a liana python,
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| Suddenly she took off her cambric bra
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| And threw him on the epaulette.
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| The lieutenant colonel has been in situations
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| And he knew how to manage himself,
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| But now he was in prostration,
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| Knocking out a morse code with your foot.
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| And before him, as close as possible,
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| So to speak, near the pupils,
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| Shameless breasts swayed
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| With cocked nipples mechanism.
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| As the police later said,
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| The lieutenant colonel worked wonders:
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| Ripped off his ammo
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| And rushed about in family shorts,
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| I grabbed the waitresses by roundness,
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| Offering a casual connection,
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| I allowed myself all sorts of nonsense,
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| Serenely joking and frolicking.
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| And in the morning, hiccuping desperately,
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| The lieutenant colonel asked for a pistol
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| And, suffering from a hangover remorse,
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| Every minute I went to the toilet.
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| And behind the dark prison window,
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| Slightly powdering the bruise of the face,
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| Moscow revived little by little,
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| Not noticing the loss of a fighter. |