Текст песни Булат Окуджава - Отъезд

(Vladimir Spivakov)

From Mozart we leave Salzburg.
The chaise roomy. Horses in the suit.
My life is like an overripe apple,
It stretches to warm piece of land to drop.

Well, my traveling companion, the young,
tears of joy does not obliterate from the face.
What does he think about the age of your short
It is only about the music, so to the end.

Time is not present for long wires ...
Surely no longer needed
the tears that were shed not in vain after all,
wings that were not in vain after all are?

Well, my companion a nervous Handles
waves and waves his fortune,
One touch of a grope true -
and poured like a nightingale.

My hands resting on his knees,
sigh hopelessly thickens in the chest:
there behind - & quot; Goodbye, Okolitsa! & quot; ...
And nothing, nothing ahead.

Well, my fellow traveler divine pastries,
without putting their effort,
then he fleytochke then he violins,
it sings the French horn for two.

1994