musicians [Theme] Page 5

- Hey, animals, are all here!
Lord Rogers, I dare to object - we are musicians.
- The servants the day off today, you have to replace them.
- I'm an artist, not a boar!
- I thought...

But, what about the cabaret, your game and my voice - we are the best in London.
So, I will be the best in new York.

I suddenly remembered the song he loved to listen to father, about a man who lives in an old house. There is another window goes out into the field, the other in the forest, and the third on the ocean. Probably a song about functionality-customs officer like me. I just can't remember who sang it. Someone from the non-professionals seems to be - whether the famous traveler, or a cook... But sang surprisingly well, mentally, apparently, I enjoy a man long. Will have to find and listen to.

Dad, I'm sorry, but I don't want to be a gangster I want to be a singer.

- Sergey Shulga is a legendary figure. Thanks to him, you could say I'm his first team assembled.
And you're in group play? And what was it called?
You wouldn't understand! "It is inside out."
- How? "The ears inside out"?
- No ears, "It inside out"! The artist can of course pour scorn on everyone, it's understandable! This banter. The 15-year-old man to the world.
- Timothy, if not a secret, your relationship with the fifteen years to the world somehow changed?
- No!
- I thought so.

I am sure that any musician transmits the vibration of his soul through the nerve endings on the fingertips. First the instrument and then to the audience. And if a musician - not a nice person, good music will not work.

Suicide or self murder?
I mute in the genes of a journalist.
You have 50. You no 23.
But how much time to do you.

My Manager Kate I promises:
Today, people come five thousand.
Well, behind one hundred festivals
It is time to assemble your Olympic.
But the concert is getting closer and closer
And at the entrance of the party only one drunk bum.
And even if you get killed, if you get drunk,
Five thousand people he does not like.
Where is my rider, where's my booze?
I'm a headliner that no one knew?
Where are the people, where is my stadium?
Hear vaguely: "That's really pathetic scumbag!"

"Maybe get you something to tell" -
Here is the hit in your entire life!
You guitar howling at 5 am
Maybe your Ghost,
The songs that once gave me,
When I was younger.
Now sings them swollen type
With his unshaven face.

You were a rock star,
Now - the seller-consultant.
And I'm over the stove
Mourn your talent
And tears boil in the pan.
Well, why you smiled at me then,
In 17 years
When I was still so young...

Oh, your mother was right
But I was wrong -
"Not important beautiful words,
Stability is important"?
Where, my dear, tell me now,
Your fans?
Instead of the fee I for housing
Pay with your salary.

He watches the black eyes from the abyss of sleep. Waiting for something, somewhere beckons, and like a string of magical violin sounds in the ears of a familiar voice... the Flower is beautiful like a Lotus, my soul is suddenly dissolved, and my heart beats faster. Tell me how deep the doors are in a dream? Do not be silent! Let the song flies from dreams to the real world, let it be, warmed by her warmth, I have also become a silent violin or a string... And strings will be in prayer themselves, and will be easier to reach the heights where flows the variation of these notes... do Not keep silent. Let the warm wind blow away your melody the light my sorrow...
Then you Wake up - the elusive glimpse of the dream motif of the melody favorite...
Sounds string!

We are a group and this group kept until his death.

We're musicians, so all have to say with their music.