Текст песни Фёдоров Олег - Ноты

Poems from God, music from hell
N. Borodin

Sat the devils on the wires
With a bang, "fa" slid down to "mi",
And oozing "la" like water
Through octaves red granite

Devils draw an arc
From the bottom to the crystal tops
Eighths run in pairs
Through the beat, to the beginning of the verse.

Syllables sail in the boats
And drift in two quarters.

A rhythm shakes their caravan
The sound of toffee in my hand melts
The musician is probably drunk
He writes jazz on the wet sand.

The devil's notes are jumping in the dawn
Rushing toward the sky with a scale:
"Sing, Creator, verse with us,
From the social. network look away! "

Nights burn out fuse
God fell asleep, probably tired.
................................
Let him sleep, lie, but for now
Yenisei will play from the sand ...