Текст песни Владимир Ланцберг - Рисунок

This is my boat,
the March water.
I will sit in his boat
and swim there,
where for black trunks
misty dawns light
where my canoe fall asleep:
There is no way forward.

No,
Still, there is one -
a bird that breast
that on my chest
hibernate -
up!
See, river floats
steam under a cloud,
though her land
little ...

This is my flute,
March dull sound.
Remove again flute
my pain, like a hand.
Again, like the order
here on the boat -
and fly ringtone
in the summer, the river to the other.

There
sun over his head.
Worn over the grass
voices of
men.
To them
pipes sound fly off.
This end of the road.
Echo his leave
in eternity ...

In the early thawed patch vernal
in the predawn darkness uneven
wake up, crazy snowdrop
and stand, and call on the winter.
You are the first - and, as it were out of place.
You are a strange - and hence one.
Hold on, my occasional soldier,
noon until your front ...

This is my room.
White fog - the wall.
Any dark night
It is visible on the frame.
Slumbers my boat
framed on the wall.
At midnight, my boat,
you podplyvesh me ...

4 - 06/03/2004