Текст песни Простая песенка - Посвящается безымянному поэту

Years ago
A poet was born and was
A little eccentric
Talented to the best of his ability.

Poems wrote and sang
(He was still that artist)
About the snow flying up
And the sky sliding down

The teachers reproached.
Friends raised the whistle:
Indeed, the snow upstairs - you can’t!
But the sky cannot - down!

But he was stubborn and proud.
And he sang like an encore
About the snow flying up
And the sky sliding down ...

He ended his life badly:
He was on the porch and drank.
And somehow he died suddenly.
But who buried him?

And what was that day?
And what year was that?
And why flipping through
Wind is his notebook?

There were sheets - clean:
No name, no pages
About the snow flying up
And the sky sliding down

Those sheets are spinning
Flocks of white birds ...
And the snow flew up.
And the sky - fell down.