Текст песни Псой Короленко - Чёрный человек

My friend, my friend,
I am very and very sick.
I myself do not know where this pain come from.
Whether the wind whistles
Over sevenless field
Then, like a grove in September,
Splash brains alcohol.

My head is magging ears
As a bird wings.
On my neck
Dangle her more nemens.
Black, black,
On the pillow to me sits down
Black man
Sleep does not give me all night.

Here he is, here he
Reads on a nasty book
And tambourity
Like over the dead monk,
All about life
Cool and Zabuldigi,
Having a soul of sadness and fear.
Black man ....

He lived in the world
Focuscript and poet
With not very big
But with very grasp
And some kind of woman
Forty years old
Called a bad girl
And nicely sweet.

"Happiness," he said, -
There is a dexterity of mind and hands.
All awkward souls
For unfortunate are always known.
It's nothing,
What a lot of Muk.
Brings these light
And air gestures.

In storms, thunderstorms,
In the extensive everyday smell
Per hour of severe losses
And when you are sad,
Everyone seems to everyone
Mysterious and simple - this
The highest art in the world. "

Black man ...

Here he is, here he
Looks at me focus.
And eyes are covered
Muddy blaver, -
As if he wants to say
That I'm a rogue and a thief
So shameless easy
Rough someone.

Black man ....

My friend, my friend,
I am very and very sick.
I myself do not know where this pain come from.
Whether the wind whistles
Over sevenless field
Then, like a grove in September,
Splash brains alcohol.

Black man ....