Текст песни Чарльз Буковски - Есть в груди моей птица

There is in my breast bird
She can not sit inside,
Too rigid an old chest.
I say, keep quiet,
And do not be afraid, coward,
We'll get along somehow.

There is in my breast bird
She can not sit in the chest,
Too hard my chest.
I say: be quiet,
You're in the ribs from a psycho,
You - my mind, since the body - the serpent.

There is in my breast bird
She can not sit in the chest,
The night I give her to fly.
And everyone is asleep and do not know,
What flies over the roof,
My bird, my grace.

There is in my breast bird
She can not sit in the chest,
Early in the morning all the birds are singing.
I tell her: "Slow down!"
And then the tears mice
Calloused soul bite.

(C) Charles Bukowski