Текст песни Вячеслав Ковалев - Комнатные растения

Text: Konstantin Arbenin

Table and wall,
My verses, you are, in fact,
Houseplants,
Sprouted through fate.
Objects of my care
And those that did not take root -
Indoor shoots,
Growing from top to bottom.
Thoughts of my drovers,
Which the soul has been waiting for
On a sunny windowsill
Kitchen table.

Introduced in autumn
Accidental draft
In parquet black soil
Apartment town.
Like a flock of tits in a birdhouse
Like needles on other people's beans,
You unripe swarmed,
In boxes and pots.
Through muddy puddles across the sea
Clinging to all living things
My azalea stretched
The Kalanchoe was climbing.

In reality, behind the windows,
For block polyhedral
My begonia longed
My geranium was running.
Threw their fifty dollars
Into the piggy bank of uneven lines
Decorative time,
Fast as a bindweed.
And jumped out of the box
Postponed for later
Yesterday's present
Plant growing with volume.

Are my herbarium hopes?
Are the greenhouse bugs?
Creations or beasts
Bicellular Engineering?
Gathered under cover
And put into circulation
My hard lungs
My salty oxygen
My neighborhood is underwear,
Wrong my lynching
Balcony delusions
In the kitchen, night forest.

Table and wall
For eternity and for the day, -
Today's background
Of tomorrow me.