Текст песни Борис Циммерман - Дорога домой

And shaved soldiers are not glory for
Fields will fall on the shaved fields.
And the snow will fall, beds of the stele.
Under the trackers of tanks will not break up the earth.
God, King's store.

I will go out on the street in early winter.
With polyethylene emerge
From home number home.
Forty thousand kilometers road home
Road home.

And my traces will take asphalt,
And the December wind - Bushlat.
And the apartment will not accept back.
And in the entrance for forty watts.
New Year from the throat.

I assure me to the company homeless,
Coming trippers and lice.
I will lean in the dirt,
Where is the lead leaf once.
Go around how to breathe.

And the Lord will say: "Well, well.
Here, where there is no "more",
Answer, not licking in anything
If in paradise, let's say, I went
Home would have gained? "

And I'll see Angels,
And, as if in the world,
Papina I break
And quietly say:
"No." And I repeat: "No."

God will say: "Bulk, alas, this mouth.
And after all, he, my mother, is not lying.
It will not get to your feet.
From the paradise gate - turn.
Strange forever. Forward!"

I will go out on the street in early winter.
With predetermined sum
From home number home.
Forty thousand kilometers road home.