Such a junkyard is round of each town. Filled of broken toys-who would count them? With each of them a child was playing. The kid may grow up and right off he lacks his light. By-and-by all of us will feel it-who would count us? Much of who is standing in this line. We're looking for the fight against the timeflow. The fight, that we could win. We could, but didn't want. We did buy the light and everywhere sented roses. Rose-bush has a lot of thorns. What beauty. The beauty,that gives pain. The dark,that is painful. It's just the another beauty...