Mstislav knew half of Kyiv. In 1991, he was so fascinated by gaining Independence that he grew a Cossack mustache and went outside to sing about Ukraine. He shouted his songs for over 20 years. He sang badly, but sincerely. In those songs, the enemies of Ukraine died in terrible torment. He was ill-adapted to life, unprotected and sincere. He received pennies from passers-by, threats and insults from "cops" and ordinary people. In his free time from "work" he drank, read and wandered everywhere, participated in patriotic song contests, traveled to Ukraine and dreamed of starring in movies. When he died, it turned out that it was not schizophrenia, but beauty and truth.