Александр Щербина - Игра в пазлы
текст песни

We are not given to predict
That the future is coming to us:
A scientific cat does not catch mice,
Morality, you have to admit,
Always ahead of the fairy tale
Heroes, feeling the denouement,
They get bored and lose the agility ...
One poet is ready to pay
For a leather piece
The stubborn is little comfort
In the memorized "everything has its own term",
At least curiosity is not a prophet -
It leads either bridges or certificates ...
Known: according to the law of Kafka,
Dreams are born in longing.
Without building locks in the sand,
You will not erect the pyramids.
So far, biologists of the subspecies
Classify the worm -
He sharpens them of it, he himself,
Roye Nora's empty doubts.
The fruits of science are illusory
In the affairs of the prophecy of fate,
Questions "If B" yes "if"
Where to decide more to solitaire ...

Let it be so.
From pure stubbornness
Let's play in the puzzles of being:
Let's say you and me,
In one Moscow, in one capital,
At one very lesson hour
We managed to fall in love.
Like a fur coat from a lordly shoulder
The Lord threw us this mercy,
I whispered to her: "You never dreamed"
She, bending to the pencil,
Wrote to me: “I am writing to you ...
I'm calling you ... why is it more ... "
We got used to it. Involuntarily
Taking the whole world to the simple "we."
In the heat of spring Kuterma
We searched for a rented apartment
Secretly from everyone
And in the peak viral
The passers -by kissed the elasticity ...
In short, the joke was a success:
In the midst of the concert season
Under the brave hat Mendelssohn
We got married, finally ...
It would seem - the singer died,
Counteen of honor and erot ...
But no! Family swamp,
What scare the local muses,
Our union did not overshadow
Sword and peaceful screaming,
Love Talent did not rob the talent -
I just formed slightly ...

And all the time they are not in vain: “The dashing
The trouble is beginning! " Five O'Clock!
Has not yet finished these lines,
Already called (and "all -so!")
Hoze the estate of relatives ...
And here is an exemplary noble,
As if on the overlays,
You fly on your train
Still in love, no longer brit
By Russian centuries -old habit
Painting rural life,
Accepting the inevitable as a given
Interrogation, feeding for slaughter,
And cock, slightly dawn,
The victorious cry “Wake up and sing!” ...
All for the sake of one, that is glad
You are like wildflowers.
What is the "Devil of Prada" there,
When the lightest sundress
Her from faded daisies
It is embarrassed that the howl is not a howl
Only Mamashin saves
Vintage-control convoy,
Leading us under the white pens
On a farm scrap,
Where is the person’s little thing
Having named the master's zucchini
"I-truth-Slavic-Patisson",
You are embarrassed in carved
Grass, which is so sensational
Then it will turn out to be a cilantro ...

When the sleepy luminary
Already yawns for sunset,
And the whole family is troublesome
Sits down for the distribution of cards,
You play hide and seek with yourself,
And you simon on ace ...
You are sad and nice
Look into your favorite eyes.
And let it not be folded, albeit for a while,
But to be almost their own for everyone,
His - overwhelming jam,
His own - excusable funny ...
All by. It will not pass even an hour
How infinitely lonely
Referring to the bell of the authorities,
Smoke for the threshold -
On freshly worn air,
Hanging from sloping roofs,
Having accepted the classic pose
"Poet in Mikhailovsky", you steam
Standing in thought about freedom
And other ghostly things ...

A month comes out. Speaks
On the stoves are lively crickets.
Moshka is swarming at the cheek,
Overgrown as a ravine by a weed,
On the street a man with a button accordion
Singing about millions of roses ...
And somehow the question arises
About a cup or two port
(Literally evaluate "blend"),
To be reverently
Turning into local surroundings,
Forget, to Eraren, about art,
About managers, about the metro,
About mosquito bites,
About the frog bolero ...
Sit, and so and sniffing
The foggy plan of the Creator,
Sent you to such
Deaf "the same" that without Vintz
Do not understand this plum:
Swamp, street, sunset ...
Sorry, the creator,
Not mastered