A bit of a sobbing conscience .... a few colors of autumn.

 Why are you sobbing a blind man.

You do not hear me dumb.

I'll look you both after.

But I will not wave my hand.

Quietly lay the snow on the ground.

Sweeping my tracks.

I'm a lost person.

And I can not find roads.

For the blind man is my conscience.

And dumb is pride and honor.

We parted for a long time already.

This is a riotous past of revenge ....