Текст песни март16 - поэту

An old plowman sows rye, -
trough in hand.
You are not.
Your talent lies elsewhere.
Days pass in silence. "Oh, how!"
Nobody wrote like you.

Life tormented and shook everyone.
And I played well on you.
Because your poems are taken alive?
Is that why the lines hit like bullets without gunpowder?

I would come to listen to you,
Tuesday evening.
It just so happened - time has found a different framework.
But when you lived, the janitor also shoveled the snow.
The dogs barked and howled in the same way.

Something also tormented, thrown to the devil
and rolled faster into a dark corner.
Even now, many years later,
paints the night its sky in coal.

What happened then? Nobody saw.
Who pulled the trigger of the revolver?
For a long time the people drank wine
Your heart wound.

And sometimes it breaks, the soul wants,
walk along the Moscow boulevards.
The moon guards barely breathing
collection of poems by Mayakovsky.