Текст песни Александр Дольский - Посвящение Есенину

Fair-haired boy, birch poet
Forgetting the golden punks
In Russia your pink horse gallops,
He laughs, calls the mare - the moon.
Making his way through the jungle of prose
We are building the great years.
Being a poet today isn’t easy,
As a citizen, as always.

From the bales of straw baeshnik
Only the song begins - do not breathe.
Like a balalaika indulges
Polyphony of the Russian soul.
Not some raspberries
In a modern layout of voices,
I am your poems like a prayer
I repeat in the temples of the forests.

You drank, but is the story new?
And they loved the wrong ones, so what?
Consciousness became poetry
How does it become vodka, rye.
And is this our business?
I do not know your sins.
So your intoxicated soul sang
I get drunk on your poems.