Текст песни Александр Злищев - Стихи

My food is meager food,
My feelings are gifted whores.
I crushed my humble talent
Under a glass at Balashin's pub.

And when I fill my eyes
I wander about the pub absentmindedly,
People are pulling my hands
People ask Yesenin's poems.

And so I want to send obscenities,
This hated audience,
How can you spit in your soul like that?
Not a perfect poet in life?

Nothing. I'll catch my breath now
And I'll read them a bully again,
And then I'll drown my sadness
In the white foam of a beer glass ...