alexandrina, as you were. i can say that vasilyochak is a fair person, i can say that you are dear, i can say that you are invited, that’s why you have become so, may 17. alexandrina, winter has passed, alexandrina, shukaga. and λεξαν the tsyaper came. oh my, alexandrina, i’m just kidding. giving to the sirs, who are so sad, i can’t understand how early they are for me, what in the sky is given at the end of may’s day, for whom the ruzhavits, payshlons, if they don’t come back, anyway. such fogs, burning dust, it’s a pity, the dark of entangled balots, as i praise the wound, the bastards and the serts couldn’t extinguish theirs, they’re gone now and you won’t return, alesya, be... may’s servant was kahanaya, a flock of growths of the past, but the call is without, the same to the little birds, the little birds, cry. paishla ў rekhoў and і ўzho will not return alesya, be a servant, a khanaya, be, we flock to the lands of the past, fall away. cry to the original pigs, cry and cry to the original shaurankals, sin