Текст песни Андрей Ширяев - Джон Донн. Послание

John Donne Message
Andrey Shiryaev

Dawn is like spleen, and London is ser.
Good morning, my beautiful sir!
How did your morality
Satyr of my words
What go on the lists, and yesterday
Caught you?

Elizabethan blood
Do not protect yourself, even kill.
In my blasphemous verses
They hear anti-ringing.
But Shakespeare - alas! -
There was something epigone.

Create, how is he? Not that reason.
Machiavelli and Nason,
Sandy lies of watches
Poetry, success,
Love and bestiality are the pose of everything.
Not a pose, just a laugh.

When prekoly years fool
The poet will say: do so !,
When the Iron Age is rich
Maybe a rusty forehead
When discord reigns in the soul
Between God and the slave
When the judge is the executioner and the liar,
Who needs morality then?

The moral is corrupt. To catch her
Just a patented creature
Which climbs under the corset
For a fee any boor.
Not really, spilled portrait
Any of the secular ladies?

The moral is that of a church. Forgive me
My father is a Jesuit.
And Paris is hardly found
On the eve of the new id
If not Spartan will be a prize,
A gag for aonid.

But, by the way - nonsense. My poems
They will go to pay for sins.
And to you before them - what am I to you,
What a eunuch - to wives.
Especially since my Pegasus
Gorgon is begotten.

And there will come a moment for me
Put a penny under your tongue.
And someone asks sadly
Twisting the hanging mustache:
"Donn, what are you doing in the coffin?"
What am I doing?
I laugh ...

1989