Singer: Both Rivers

The notes and thoughts to be continued -
The meaning of the hysterical movement of the soul,
Life reveals the phenomenon of slip.
The fire extinguishing in death. Breathe!

You are my spring,
Open, careless,
Holy, infinite,
The distant spring...

I don't know of such a threat,
What makes to love with caution,
Under fire-fools or on the edge of the abyss,
Not allowing doubt in vain?

I don't know such a random,
What not to include in the order of commonness,
Not resolved a deal with old age,
And do not trust artificial principles?

Beautiful princesses in enchanted castles,
Which is sincerely a pity to us:
Not all princes are waiting for the skillful
On a white horse with blue bird,
With big money and a sincere heart
Deep soul and an established pepper.
And that the old one was not, but somewhere under thirty.

Let it not be lucky
Your next move
To change this troubled world.

Our diaper think of the graves
And the old man to a well-deserved retirement
Do not live with these forks
They are unlikely to age with dignity get the job...
The bitter truth is teenagers will open
Attics and cold streets,
The wounded beast helplessly spinning,
Spitting blood, the unfortunate Motherland...

Intellectuals skinny, sad
Dries from hunger for the sake of art,
Looking into the eyes of indifferent children,
Sinking in a swamp of overseas ideas.

Looking for each other for internal circuits
Routes, the hungry heart signs,
Looking for each other their reflections,
Not stopping the blind movement.

How can you be
Crucified on parallel steel circumstances
You need to win
One insane jump, ruthless betrayal.
Like not seriously
Cerebropathy night in the writhing,
Rhythmic clatter of wheels
And soon it all must end...

And no one here wanted
Never thought to leave,
However, for this to cling to,
And what frightens the limit.
And everyone cares,
Urgent business
Unfinished something
In the web mirror.
In the unchangeable spots of conscience,
With skeletons in closets,
Unfinished story
In locked tables.
Someone old, someone Mature,
To whom the youth ahead
Nobody wanted
To leave their way.

My songs - just a few lines,
The rest is ridiculous and not important.
Apparently I was alone
And then never came back one day...

What has become of me, what trouble?
City, what-if, make angrier?
But come back to me sometimes
For a moment - all will become warmer.

Days like mother to daughter
The nature of the bodies to old age.
Not to find in them a fresh joy,
Not found.