К. Потапов - Что бы Вам ответил Маяковский
текст песни

I do not have time to sleep
Poems slow down.
But quit writing
You can’t, you can’t!
Madly and long
Deep down my cuisine,
Thunder with rhyme and loaf
(It seemed that the ceiling would collapse)
The coffee grinder rings verses
It will not be silent
In the ear.
Here you are a gently Polyglot.
They buried in the words like a mole.
Do you know
How they smile in May
Trams?
Do not know?
In the whole mouth
Smile at
May
Trams!
Here...
Glitter on the glass slope
Filmed Mai ride
And crowded
In pairs in love
They chase in the spring
Frenzied.
But these are trams in May.
And where to go to me?
I’ll go stomp the Spring Acacia Street.
Nobody put me the rail.
Mine is the square of the quarter.
My path-smile of the face of passers-by.
would not stumble at the faces.
Once it came.
Spring Baba crazy hysterical
She has a blue sky, otherwise the earth is brown.
Choose any, personal.
but you know I am somehow tired
To rest with his nose into steel.
This is the trams are good in May,
And I want my eyes
Human
And you are me, Ishta
We know
to the doctor,
Heal!
There is no tram
Beautiful in May
No one argues.
But these are trams.
And where are the people?
No people of course there are.
But either in love, busy,
They carry flowers.
Or not people-prisoners!
In love with the monetary tin.
So it would only be.
I do not see beauty.
Those who are in love?
On them it is still-
The hearts are window
Only one way.
And those elephants that everyone eat?
Thank you. What is not.
Such are harmful to me-
I'm still a poet.
Here you have the jeans have worn out to me,
Torn old and worn out
Fine.
They themselves asked for
You have a soul holey soul with purulent wounds.
I smile at you:
I will sew my jeans il buy
Do you tell me with such a soul?
I doubt.
Here you are all Taldych
as if putting in a wound
Fragment
Why do you need to write about it, a fool?
And I have
Poets
Houses on the shelf
Brodsky and Pasternak,
And in the kitchen of poems a coffee grinder
will not be silent ...
How to live with this?
Where can I go like this?
Tear the streets of spring acacia,
have fun
Yes, the city is staggering?
Tired, quit!
We can look at the faces?
Yes, there are only faces!
I saw, do not argue.
Where is the beautiful left?
There is a little left
Yes, and then in vain
Caps.
Here you are:
Prose.
The rhyme dies!
The poems are deaf
And at the end of the spring cross,
In May,
I know,
Trams want to read poetry!