Владимир Юринов - Рванул рубаху на груди...
текст песни

Rushing the shirt on the chest,
With a trembling roar of the rush
Airplanes go to the sky,
Trying to wake the morning.
Their path is originally high,
their blue is blindly beckoning
They hug the sky with their foreheads,
Fasting, feeling a jerk.
Look, here is one close
in a martial art with the sky
He is the geometry of the contours
the unlucky blue tears,
He goes on, to the "ceiling",
to where the crunch-lips of fate,
He eagerly absorbs breasts
Flying stream ...
Slides into a bottomless blue
Fluffy trace of a fast strip,
And suddenly heses above his head,
Having surrendered to the chest, the supersonic shot ...
All firmly than boosters muscles,
Less than the cold of the stratosphere,
All is more visible fuel meter
Among the dietary voices.
So, slow down the flight,
Prophetic to everyone beautifully-owl
economical regime
cowardly-chanting?
No, to hell! Live - so on the run!
After all, the wings hold on to the air,
And that means he will act simply
Continuing a hard game.
And firmly believing his choice,
And breaking up the disputes,
between the hills, from the powerless of black,
He will play high.
The last rumble is exhausted
He will suddenly rise as a solo concert,
dashing calculating
cascade of rolled -up figures,
And, trusting your flight
And burning the heart of the flame,
Above the left foreheads
Cool will lay a turn.
And down, by the seizure of decay
slides to the beginning of the strip,
By a sad whistle, announcing
His tired landing.
He will fall to the ground with a cheek,
He will fold his wings behind his back
And the engine that did not know the failures,
Suddenly choke on silence ...
It's over, the final is known, -
All there is a horizon, in the distance.
And get him along the plates
into the gate breathing abyss.
She flashed with a fiery carbon fiber
A similar game.
He is sleeping under a cover of a case
In the darkness of the frozen hangar ...