Текст песни Мария Бунтарская - ОКТОИХ - Сергей Есенин

By my voice
     I’ll eat thee, my God.
   C.O.
 
  1
 
 Oh motherland, happy
 And an endless hour!
 No better, no prettier
 Your cow's eyes.
 
 To you, to your mists
 And the sheep in the fields
 I carry it like an oatmeal sheaf,
 I am the sun in my arms.
 
 Sanctuary
 And Christmas
 So thirsty vigil
 Eternally drunk.
 
 Shaking our shoulders with the sky
 Hands freeze gloom
 And into a skinny ear of bread
 Inhale star grass.
 
 About Russia, about the steppe and winds,
 And you, my father’s house!
 On the Golden Povet
 Spring thunder nests.
 
 We feed the storm with oats
 Pray for the dol
 And arable land blue
 The mind-ox plows us.
 
 And not a single stone
 Through a sling and a bow
 Not beating us
 The raising of God's hands.
 
  2
 
     "Oh virgo
 Maria! -
 Heaven is singing. -
 On the golden fields
 Shed hair.
 
 Oh my faces
 By the hand of the earth.
 With a string of mountains
 Sailing ships.
 
 In them are the souls of the departed
 And the memory of centuries.
 Oh woe who grumbles
 Without removing the shackles!
 
 Screaming in the dark
 And beating forehead
 Under the secret signs
 We will not close the gate.
 
 But bend who came out
 And he saw only a moment!
 We are a cloudy roof
 Crush the blind. "
 
  3
 
 Oh god god
 You eh
 Shake the earth in your dreams?
 Dust constellations
 On our hair.
 
 The cedar makes a noise
 Through the fog and the moat
 And to the valley of misfortune
 Bumps of words fall.
 
 They sing about the days
 Other lands and waters,
 Where on tight branches
 Biting their moon mouth.
 
 And whisper about the bushes
 Impassable groves
 Where dances, removing the ports
 Gold-domed rain.
 
  4
 
 Hosanna in the highest!
 The hills sing about paradise.
 And in that paradise I see
 You, my fatherland.
 
 Under the Mauritius Oak
 My red-haired grandfather is sitting
 And his fur coat shines
 Peas of frequent stars.
 
 And that cat hat
 What a holiday he wore
 It looks like a month, chilly
 On the snow of their native graves.
 
 From the hills I scream grandfather:
 "Oh Father, answer me ..."
 But the cedars doze quietly
 By hanging the boughs down.
 
 The voice does not reach
 In his distant breg ...
 But choo! It rings like an ear
 Growing snow from the ground:
 
 "Rise, see and see!
 Indescribable rock.
 Who lives and lives -
 He knows the hour and time.
 
 God's clicks will sound
 Fire and storm of pipes
 And a yellow-tooth cloud
 Focus the milky navel.
 
 And the belly will fall out
 Incinerate the reins ...
 But the one who thought the virgin
 He will ascend into the ship of the star. "
 
 August 1917