Текст песни Ирина Лескова - Что календарь...

What's the calendar? Formality of being!
Any February already blows with lilacs.
And the old sadness for the young
Under the violent sedition of the crow
Replaces. But the accreted one hurts!
Scrape the skin of the asphalt.
Salt of the earth
Scattered on wet sidewalks.
Colored dreams exfoliate in a thin vapor
And we have lost the habit of sharing the joys.
As an awkward woman - packages,
We drop them with our whole armful into the snow!
But still enough for everyone, for everyone!
Change is a transparent sign!
About time, a merry paddle!
Soaked mittens naive warmth
Imprinted on the crust of a snowdrift
Chilled germs are slipping,
Spring constellations from dens
Will raise a light smell of mothballs,
And God, having blinded a child from wet clay,
The stream will be dammed with the remains.

Irina Ratushinskaya
1983 KGB prison, Kiev