Текст песни Вадим Певзнер - Датский романс

my trotted brother horseless local azhan
go to cities where you have never been seen
on the bike with the motor there is always not enough pedal
Well, what about medals, they are for other citizens

go to the cities where a careless mouse is booming
where three bouncers rely on every tavern
it's still better than the northern ghost of shambhala
or miserable hot gills of gothic roofs

the day passed and left and left a frost and a question
meanwhile, the morning cross begins on the parade ground
waking up blue obscuring the ceiling
and a syllable sweeps across the Danish world

off-season free drafts walk in the grocery
in these faces something bison is laid bare in the morning
and sounds in the gateway cave blasphemous laughter
and like a snub-nosed reading trunk

and evening people come in frayed coats
talk about metro and litho and pictures of wato
and scolding someone who has long been turned into eternal smoke
and laugh with the bow sound recognizing the frets

and evening people come and with them one
old friend with a hat a la aladin
sometimes he chews his sleepy eclair in a bookcase
watching the crowd from behind blue dust-laced trellises

he already loved the surrounding sugary fear
he no longer lives cheating on something disgraced
narrow kitchens and bedrooms are being built in this city
for those like him buried alive

this city smells like spring mouse fuss
this city is gagged with colorless daubs
well, and you with your pride in another flight
fluttered like a page from captivity and sleep binding

Well, have you already lost everything to sing just like that
without inheritance without meaning but only for grub and a penny
tired no problem landed relax on the bench
picking up a nickel dropped by someone near the urn

or take off the collar of the long coffin coat
slide the useless hat and run out of the chamber
not forgetting about glasses having bought dazzling cotton
to hear the distant sea going down the subway

and faced with a long-manned, wheezing lion
wave apologetically domed felt roof
and ask for a light from some oncoming Grisha
to the question about the clock theatrically waving his sleeve

wait on the corner, giving way to the family
your right to life in hospital ice glaucoma
do not sin against sleep, sit on a snub-nosed bench
watching screaming children and colds

let's say this is already there and she still wants and is looking
but hardly find for judging by the line of the mouth
hopelessly stingy saves on matches and food
and does not sleep at night endlessly counting to a hundred

one two three four...

(C. 1982)