Текст песни Игорь Печерский - Домой

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With this cry
it is time to return ripe,
But he remained a common thread,
With klyanchestvom the cities.

There was a lazy smile for a while,
Prior to their homes,
Now I went to him with tears crawling,
Barely home ...

But where in the mud it was holiness
Where one and the same, that the poet, that filthy peasant,
In the colors black,
I saw white roses, faded years.

I shot both word and deed,
Rifmoi vypletaya bandolier,
I was a poet, God knows what century
But I was not for them, I was ours.

I gnawing from the cold and wind,
Something like crackers,
People, river, two banks and a smoke,
And as - as if from friends.

But this lopsided defeated,
Where are all the words through inference,
Shame on you who imagine wise be
But I'm looking for, from the songs of earth healing.

                                                                                 G. 1996