here is the work of the broken kolos horace death, and this work from three wars.his native hut go and then showed you. here is a mother who went out on the road to wait for her sons who did not return from the front. among these wars my dad also died, buried in zelenaya gora pulse. here's to my birthday on october 23, 44. he died. i also dedicated a sculpture to him, which stands near the hapka, here we have a playing violin. this is a violin. i remember hanging. we have on fuck, now displayed to me. i am drawn to judge this living room, where i spent my childhood. i can't miss a single day to visit this place today. it's gone here. my childhood is the hut of my grandfather, my grandmother, the place where my hut stood, you remember. i was drawn with fears, uh, and hajjali, honey, they were called stickies. this is the second deposited honey pedigree here is this revenge buried in these cemeteries. here are the revolves on almost every house were. they flew anyway, and it increases by a triple, where a person lived his life. that's how i, too, return to myself eve