Текст песни бр - Н

Joseph Brodsky "On the debate with himself, the night ..."

On the debate with himself
Night
Killing, swallow smoke
no longer mind
in a daming lag
Get your hand.
On buttons Grand
Ready to spend.

Right to yourself right
soul, mind,
Sometimes I wake
Such darkness
and time and words
What the breasts lomit
What is ready in the mirror
Sometimes look.

But it's only you
And your life
laid in hell
Persons, edges
which firm
In trouble, in labor
And, apparently, alien
Any medium.

But it's only you.
Your face
For arguing four
Ring itself.
Not mirrors wine
What is angry with mouth:
You are a lotova wife
And the very Lot.

But it's only you.
And the background is yours - hell.
Look without a fuss
forward. Back
With no horror, see.
Be straight and proud,
fragmented from the inside
to the touch firm.