Вроде как три года назад должен был выписать, а что-то не.
From farther away, they are answered by voices of the UNEMPLOYED.No man has hired us With pocketed hands And lowered faces. We stand about in open places And shiver in unlit rooms. Only the wind moves Our empty fields, untilled, Where the plow rests at an angle To the furrow. In this land There will be one cigarette to two men, To two women one half pint of bitter Ale. In this land No man has hired us. Our life is unwelcome, our death Unmentioned in ‘The Times’.