Текст песни Иосиф Бродский - Мысль о тебе удаляется, как разжалованная прислуга...

The thought of you is removed as a servant demoted,

no! a platform with a sign & quot; Vyritsa & quot; or & quot; & quot ;. Tartu

But looming persons who do not know each other,

terrain caused precisely yesterday at stake,

and fill the vacuum. Apparently, none of the

We did not become a monument. Apparently, in our veins

enough lime. & Quot; In our family - worrying,

Would you put in - there was no war,

no great thinkers & quot ;. Correct: Neva jets

reflection one more thing unbearable.

Where there is a mother and her pots

to survive in the long term, lengthens the life of her son!

That's the same snow, this marble for the poor, for lack of a body

melts, referring to the inability of the cells -

ie, convolutions! - Remember how you wanted to,

powdering her cheek, look at last.

It remains, back of the head from the sight of covering hands,

muttering on the go & quot; dead, dead & quot ;, as long as

city ​​tearing crude retina of coarse cloth,

rattling as rentable dishes.