little funny, i understand, i have to finish, if you will, i just want to read the poem, which mikhaivich lermantov eternal wanderers, an azure steppe, a chain of pearls, learn, as if exiles like me, from the dear north towards the south, what is driving you , is it a decision of fate, is it secret envy, open malice, or is a crime weighing on you, or friends , poisonous slander, no, you are bored with barren fields, passions are alien to you, and alien. forever cold, forever free, you don’t have a homeland , you don’t have exile, it doesn’t exist, as they say, and it doesn’t exist here, albaristan spoke in the eighty- sixth year before the liquidators, okay, well ok, well done, well done, yes, vladimir rudolfovich, he spends every day off driving under bullets and explosions, for the second year in a row, does anyone even pay attention to this, and don’t be arrogant. i didn’t understand him, because the people are incomprehensible and bad, but i’ll say it straight, the people love me, yes , thank god, there on the front line you see it, this is completely different, completely different relationshi