Текст песни КЮБЗ - Квартальный столб

I live with every day of lean
In the swamp of well-fed days
I like rickets
Moscow granite,
Prevraschvet a slave.
I'll throw the house and the table,
I need a quarter pole.
I have to go,
I have to walk -
Reaching the post.

Let nudit cynic: "Went
To hell with this very post. "
But it is not the climate,
What he say
Among the made-up women!
How could he grasp
Why should I post a quarterly,
Why should I go,
Why do I walk,
Why to post.

I go, pushing the forehead,
Deadwood and fallen trees.
Whatever stones
Fate did not throw -
I dream about
That in spite of all the bastards
Find me a quarterly column
And that was regularly
Number quarter
Written on it.

And if it is empty,
Like a weasel asleep mouth
Two words screaming
On the faces of the silent
Leave the blade - "Slava!".
And those who go after me,
Finding this post will understand
How did a cool,
What in the world harsh
He is not alone.