Текст песни бесполезный - ураган

I sit on the porch of my old wooden house in Kansas and hear a radio announcer broadcast an urgent meteorological report: a hurricane of unprecedented size moves in the direction of my little town. In an unceasing voice, she cites statistics: for the short two weeks of the life of a hurricane, he has already managed to harm dozens of states, level hundreds of cities to the ground, bury more than one thousand people. I light up another cigarette and continue to listen. The announcer brings to the attention of the residents of Kansas the news that Cassiopeia (this is the unusual name that scientists gave to the destroyer of human destinies) within a few hours will also cover our pitiful town. Experts advise citizens to leave their homes and run away, perhaps then they will be able to escape. I turn off the radio, go into the house and go to the closet for a bottle of my favorite whiskey, because it was he who throughout my life helped me solve problems with women. I knew that this moment would come sooner or later, it was just written on my family to die under such circumstances, even despite my mother’s stories about the magical land of Oz, in which she fell. Why am I so sure of my death? Because the world has changed since the death of Mrs. Dory: America no longer needs you and every resident of the United States understands this perfectly, so I take a bottle, light another strong one and return to the porch, turn on the radio. Sudden message: Cassiopeia is already approaching our town, so everyone who did not have time to leave the city can only pray. I take a small cross out of my pocket, gaze at it intently, and then with all my strength I throw it into the field. To hell with it all! What is the meaning of God if he cannot save our sinful souls ?! In the distance, I see huge clouds cast lightning to the ground, the thunder intensifies, and the wind is already beginning to bend the trees. I tune the radio again, but instead of the terribly calm voice of the announcer, I hear only a steady hiss. Great, this will be our song with you, Kes. I finish my whiskey and an empty bottle is sent to the thick grass following the cross given to my mother. Suddenly her silhouette appears on the horizon, I have never seen a woman more beautiful: as if a huge tunnel connecting our godless earth with the heavens. I understand that the end is near, I wrap myself in my jacket, sit back, light up the last cigarette in my life, make noises, louder on the radio, and wait for my death. Kes is coming.