What good is my wisdom, feelings, memories? I dry thorn, not a blade of grass. And I'm bored as bored left without the Lord. I am suffering, suffering people, and I'm nothing. I'm so bored, that although ravaged garden of boredom, which I roam back and forth, as if waiting for someone. Waiting and waiting among deliquescent universe. I prayed to God, but registry optimizer praying man, but I - the shell candle, which is not lit. "Come back to me, my zeal, my hard work" - I asked. I know: bind it all together, and there zeal. It is when the ship is the captain. When there are pilgrims in the chapel. But what remains, but the senseless stone, if nevnyaten plan sculptor?