Текст песни Братья Жемчужные и Евгений Абдрахманов - Пишет Саша Солженицын

Writes Alexander Solzhenitsyn
Its been-fiction.
Harvest takes pen
With poisonous bush.
The hang abroad -
It would be better to shoot at home,
Or again on stage
In remote places.

He sings the praises of his heroes
Those that go under escort.
Maybe someone in vain,
But someone can not.
You must be a hangover
You look in the mirror curve.
Overdone very densely
Your spiritual intelligence.

For the Geneva and Hague
Writes Sanya its saga.
scarred wounds
Picks open the pen.
Oh, and a lot of dirty water
He's in the Archipelago,
What is written, that too
Do not cut with an ax.

Birds flew to bask,
Warmed, arrived,
Do you not hear
Crane Creek native.
Maybe in a strange bed
Your thoughts are rusted.
I curse you, the writer,
Our Russian land.

So live it, God is with thee
Together with Blue Bloods,
But that's very disappointing -
Soar carried out of the hut.
And you'll die, you bury it,
The unfinished Pomo,
Or you're in someone else's sky
Ash get out of the tube ...

Writes Alexander Solzhenitsyn
Its been-fiction
Harvest takes pen
With poisonous bush.
The hang abroad -
It would be better to shoot at home,
Or again on stage
In remote places.