OK, I think I can go home.
I don't think I can live up to that.
No way.
But thank you so much for all those kind lies.
I'm going to read some poems.
The first one is a new poem and then
I'll read some old poems, OK?
I do [INAUDIBLE].
I speak with a very heavy Russian accent,
so to make sure that you don't suffer
for the next half an hour, the angels
in this amazing, amazing place have made your life easier.
This poem is called "Living Happily During the War."
We lived happily during the war.
And when they bombed other people's houses,
we protested, but not enough.
We opposed them, but not enough.
I was in my bed, around my bed, America
was falling: Invisible house by invisible house
by invisible house.
I took a chair outside and watched the sun.
In the sixth month of a disastrous reign
in the house of money in the street of money
in the city of money in the country of money,
our great country of money, we (forgive us)
lived happily during the war.