На мотив восьмиклассницы

Upon a time, in distant lands,
Behind the woods, behind the sands
Two men observed each other on the street

One was a soldier with awards,
He craved to know who stands towards
But stranger didn't want his glance to meet.

A dusky smoky silhouette
Nobody cannot this forget
But others, they are not a hitch.

The soldier was the simple one,
He was a pawn of his own gun,
And afterwards he did begin his speech.

'The war smoke locked in my hair
And now I almost off affair,
But I can hold a rifle in this case.

I am the husband of my wife,
But I still have the sharpest eye,
And I'm tired to play pariah role.

Until I've counted down to twelve
Just make a favor, name yourself
Or I will decorate this wall with brains'.

And stranger answered 'nevermind
I am the man of other kind
My job is very special nowadays.

I am the killer of the life,
A gentle reaper of ripe rye
I want just to divide your flesh and soul.

Your death, indeed, is not a fame
But I just want you just to name
The place where I should prop up your remains'.

The soldier fired in his best,
But blood is streaming from his chest
Another corpse is left to mother earth.

And stranger 's murdered, what a hack,
There is a hole in his pale neck
There is no need to smother, he's hoarse.

Upon a time, in distant lands,
By murky woods, by yeasty sands
An ancient legend of pasts is revealed.

With neither brotherhood nor feud,
It's neither terrible nor good,
Two men are strangely by each other killed.


2016