Алекша Нович - Мессия
текст песни

You probably don't remember me anymore
It seems like millennia.
I am surprised at the electronics in this room,
Yes, I was not in this world.
And all these tools, and the current running in the microphone
It does not remind me of that planet, about that house.
With walls in clay smeared, without heating gas,
Without an Internet, television, and even a basic radio.
Yes, I have not seen all this, in your eyes I probably Dick,
But wait, nevertheless, on those icons, is it not my face?
But on this mother, by the way, I have not seen her for a long time.
I love her very tightly. I hope I didn't offend her much,
When at seventeen, he hung it from Galilee on the way.
Yes, in my youth, I often interconnected in such muts.
But on this I am with my older brother John,
I like I pray, and he pours on my head of the water of Jordan.
Yes, a lot of things were strange for these thirty -three years,
But wait, nevertheless, what kind of concrete building is this?
In which all these icons weigh, and the sacrificial fire burns,
Where everything is so strict, expensive and does not even smell like a windy spirit.
How how? Temple for prayer? Where should I ask for forgiveness?
But I don’t remember something that I ask for forgiveness in such a room
I prayed in the mountains, forests, sometimes at home at the threshold.
No, no, I don’t whine, it’s just a little surprised.
So then my father for the sake of, pray wherever you want,
If you want to go home to your temples, but at least go to the McDak.
I remember that in the policy of spirituality to meddle is a hazardous injury,
Therefore, I am not going to collect the flock again. It's clear?
The second time I certainly will not fall on this chip,
Excuse me, but from the wound under the right rib is still shortness of breath.
I actually came to talk to you about another business,
Remember you about my second prediction, somehow sang in your prayers?
Well, in general, as you wanted,
I am again among you, in this physical body.

No, no, I don't cry the wind in the eyes,
He makes men think differently.
No, no, blood does not mean on my palms,
That you should pray for every verse.

I go to my church and do not find my knowledge
And I don’t understand why the fact of my circumcision is so important here.
And my lips, and the Talmud Listening to my image
Replaced my doctrine of salvation of souls, yu.
And where is my adult sermon? I didn't understand something.
Do you even understand how many nights in a row I prepared it?
Either you have been guaranteed, or I made a mistake of the Toli door,
But why is your cult elevated around my suffering and pain?
And so many extra salt with water for people shed,
Alone left prayers, only how much it was invented.
I take the gospel, more precisely, what has been preserved from it,
I find the moment where my community prayed.
Well, here, it is written in black in a white, true word,
But I only feel someone's stern look with reproach.
The old woman comes up to me, say “you don't pray so
You are not standing there, you’re not so swearing, God is angry now. ”
Go Satan! I said to the one who stood behind her spirit,
But from the scan of what was heard in response, my ears curled up into the tube tightly.
And in general, with the noise and scandal from this house of the Pharisees
They kicked my phenomenon in this physical body.
And here I am sitting in a park with a guitar on a bench,
And passers -by past people throw money for me.
And the bodies of my crippled earthly pains,
Do not compare with pain in my heart, about your lost will.

No, no, I don't cry the wind in the eyes,
He makes men think differently.
No, no, blood does not mean on my palms,
That you should pray for every verse.