At Sokol metro station’s stop,
Or maybe Okhotny Ryad,
A vending machine stands on top,
A high-tech marvel, ironclad.
No tablecloths or spoons in sight,
But miracles occur right here,
The chosen curly noodles might
Be blessed with water, crystal clear.
And everyone beholds this wonder,
Exclaiming with a bated breath:
“For warming me with boiling water,
I thank you, noodles, until death!”
