(Не судите строго)
Angel of the national hangover:
The 7-th of November has only gone,
The sound of the common happiness has ceased,
But someone circles around the place, where I'm standing here alone
Perhaps, the angel of the national hangover.
The wings are hung like soggy moustache,
And blows from something sourly and weird,
But gilded clock hits on tower, with loud and so dizzy rage,
And citizens of state are wanting beer.
And sometimes you just can not be expressed,
Reality is unwinged and kneaded,
And it's so hard to make a move and even hard to stand,
And we are all as defenceless as kitten.
And wishes enemy to poison our drinks,
To crush our feasting and our "beding",
But someone flying above me and blesses everyone he sees,
And saves us angel of the national hangover.