Текст песни Андрей Анпилов - Богема

Good little drunkard and motu
lie on the bed until late sun,
to be sad, picking the sad sprat,
that there is nowhere else to go and give up.

There is little good - it flows from the cornice and
finished wine ammunition.
And after that honor will be scraped together for a penny
from a copper basin and a mint cuirass.

Besides, they call you bohemian
tenants that stick out from the windows like rostra,
for the fact that the goddess looks out of the baguette,
confusing minds with nakedness and growth;

for a colorful robe and magic shadows -
and for the disturbing smell of the backstage,
for not being their contemporary,
for a white suit and crazy thoughts;

for leaving the world of boiled cabbage,
where the nights are full of cat hair
for the wind of falling and the air of art,
for the bitter stars above the roofing sheet ...

A midnight bird flies over the boulevard.
Illumination beads scattered.
Doesn't want to go down to a warm earth
and cannot rise to the black sky.

1985