Нервы - 04. Софи Марсо
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Нервы - 04. Софи Марсо - оригинальный текст песни, перевод, видео
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Меланхолия октябрьского вечера.
Я лист бумаги сложенный вчетверо.
Косой дождь, я намокаю слева.
Сопливая погода мой город съела.
Память выдает красивые моменты -
Отрывки из французской киноленты,
Короткий сюжет сумбурного романа.
Софи Марсо мне улыбается с экрана.
История любви показана красиво,
Но это - Франция, а я живу в России,
По улице шагаю, огибая лужи,
В кафе поужинать, а в голове француженка.
Мы чем – то похожи, ничего странного-
Но между нами города и страны,
Мои женщины, ее мужчины,
Виллы, яхты, белые лимузины,
А я дальше по лужам вперед полквартала.
За шиворот капает, этого не хватало!
Напротив кафе меня огнями манит,
Зайду обязательно, хуже не станет.
Свободный столик, квадрат телевизора,
Водка и сок, свои плюсы и минусы.
И снова Франция и Россия.
Футбол. Мы меряемся силами.
Представляю Париж, апрель или март,
Нашу встречу предсказали карты.
Это могло бы сбыться, без дураков,
Если бы я был Никита Михалков,
Говорил по-французски, жил в Ницце
Или в Праге, в общем, за границей.
На землю опять вернула милиция.
Пьеса окончена. Действующие лица.
Красота - страшная сила
В умелых руках. Она меня убила.
Спелая ягода из Парижа.
Мне нравится то, что я вижу.
Я снова смотрю кино интересное.
Устал и растворился в кресле.
За окном дождь, ночь – 12 часов.
Меня греет плед, а не Софи Марсо.
Жаль!
***
The melancholy of an October evening.
I'm a sheet of paper folded into four.
Slanting rain, I намокаю on the left.
Some weather my city ate.
Memory shows the beautiful moments -
Excerpts from French movies,
A short story short novel.
Sophie Marceau smiling at me from the screen.
Love story shows nice,
But this is France, and I live in Russia,
On the street walking, dodging puddles,
In the cafe for dinner, as head of French.
We have something similar, there's nothing strange
But between us cities and countries,
My women, the men,
Villas, yachts, white limousines,
And I went through the puddles forward half a block.
The collar of his shirt dripping, this is not enough!
Opposite the cafe my lights beckoning,
'll definitely, it won't get better.
Free table, the square of the TV,
Vodka and juice, its pros and cons.
And again France and Russia.
Football. We меряемся forces.
Imagine Paris, April or March,
Our meeting predicted card.
This could come true, no lie,
If I was Nikita Mikhalkov,
Spoke French, lived in nice
Or in Prague, in General, abroad.
On the ground again returned police.
The play is over. The actors.
Beauty is a great power
In the capable hands. She I was killed.
Ripe berry from Paris.
I like what I see.
I look back movie interesting.
Tired and faded into the chair.
Outside the rain, the night - 12 hours.
My warm blanket, and not Sophie Marceau.
Sorry!
Я лист бумаги сложенный вчетверо.
Косой дождь, я намокаю слева.
Сопливая погода мой город съела.
Память выдает красивые моменты -
Отрывки из французской киноленты,
Короткий сюжет сумбурного романа.
Софи Марсо мне улыбается с экрана.
История любви показана красиво,
Но это - Франция, а я живу в России,
По улице шагаю, огибая лужи,
В кафе поужинать, а в голове француженка.
Мы чем – то похожи, ничего странного-
Но между нами города и страны,
Мои женщины, ее мужчины,
Виллы, яхты, белые лимузины,
А я дальше по лужам вперед полквартала.
За шиворот капает, этого не хватало!
Напротив кафе меня огнями манит,
Зайду обязательно, хуже не станет.
Свободный столик, квадрат телевизора,
Водка и сок, свои плюсы и минусы.
И снова Франция и Россия.
Футбол. Мы меряемся силами.
Представляю Париж, апрель или март,
Нашу встречу предсказали карты.
Это могло бы сбыться, без дураков,
Если бы я был Никита Михалков,
Говорил по-французски, жил в Ницце
Или в Праге, в общем, за границей.
На землю опять вернула милиция.
Пьеса окончена. Действующие лица.
Красота - страшная сила
В умелых руках. Она меня убила.
Спелая ягода из Парижа.
Мне нравится то, что я вижу.
Я снова смотрю кино интересное.
Устал и растворился в кресле.
За окном дождь, ночь – 12 часов.
Меня греет плед, а не Софи Марсо.
Жаль!
***
The melancholy of an October evening.
I'm a sheet of paper folded into four.
Slanting rain, I намокаю on the left.
Some weather my city ate.
Memory shows the beautiful moments -
Excerpts from French movies,
A short story short novel.
Sophie Marceau smiling at me from the screen.
Love story shows nice,
But this is France, and I live in Russia,
On the street walking, dodging puddles,
In the cafe for dinner, as head of French.
We have something similar, there's nothing strange
But between us cities and countries,
My women, the men,
Villas, yachts, white limousines,
And I went through the puddles forward half a block.
The collar of his shirt dripping, this is not enough!
Opposite the cafe my lights beckoning,
'll definitely, it won't get better.
Free table, the square of the TV,
Vodka and juice, its pros and cons.
And again France and Russia.
Football. We меряемся forces.
Imagine Paris, April or March,
Our meeting predicted card.
This could come true, no lie,
If I was Nikita Mikhalkov,
Spoke French, lived in nice
Or in Prague, in General, abroad.
On the ground again returned police.
The play is over. The actors.
Beauty is a great power
In the capable hands. She I was killed.
Ripe berry from Paris.
I like what I see.
I look back movie interesting.
Tired and faded into the chair.
Outside the rain, the night - 12 hours.
My warm blanket, and not Sophie Marceau.
Sorry!
Melancholy of the October evening.
I am a sheet of paper folded fourfold.
Spit rain, I get wet on the left.
My city ate the snotty weather.
Memory gives out beautiful moments -
Excerpts from the French film,
A short plot of a chaotic novel.
Sophie Marso smiles at me from the screen.
The love story is shown beautifully,
But this is France, and I live in Russia,
Walking along the street, going around the puddles,
Have dinner in the cafe, and in the head of a Frenchwoman.
We are something similar, nothing strange
But between us are the cities and the countries,
My women, her men,
Villas, yachts, white limousines,
And I further along the puddles ahead of the half -quarter.
It dripping for the neck, this was not enough!
Opposite the cafe beckoning me with lights,
I will definitely come, it will not get worse.
Free table, a square of the TV,
Vodka and juice, their pros and cons.
And again France and Russia.
Football. We measure the forces.
Imagine Paris, April or March,
Our meeting was predicted by cards.
It could come true, without fools,
If I were Nikita Mikhalkov,
Spoke French, lived in Nice
Or in Prague, in general, abroad.
The police returned to the ground again.
The play is over. Characters.
Beauty is a terrible force
In skillful hands. She killed me.
Ripe berry from Paris.
I like what I see.
I watch an interesting movie again.
Tired and dissolved in a chair.
Rain outside the window, night - 12 hours.
I warm me a blanket, not Sophie Marso.
It's a pity!
***
The Melancholy of An October Evening.
I'm a sheet of pper folded into Four.
Slanding Rain, I get wet on the left.
SOME Weather My City Ate.
Memory Shows The Beautiful Moments -
Excerpts from French Movies,
A Short Story Short Novel.
Sophie Marceau Smiling at Me from the Screen.
Love Story Shows Nice,
But this is France, and I Live in Russia,
On the Street Walking, Doding Puddles,
In the Cafe for Dinner, As Head of French.
We have something Similar, There's Nothing Strange
ButWeen Us Cits and Countries,
My Women, The Men,
Villas, yachts, White Limousines,
And I Went Through The Puddles Forward Half a Block.
The Collar of His Shirt Dripping, this is not enure!
Opposite the Cafe My Lights Beckoning,
'LL Definitely, It Wonmet Get Better.
Free Table, The Square of the TV,
Vodka and Juice, Its Pros and Cons.
And Again France and Russia.
Football. We measured forces.
Imagine Paris, April or march,
OUR Meeting Predicted Card.
This COULD COME TRUE, No Lie,
IF I WAS NIKITA MIKHALKOV,
SPOKE FRENCH, Lved in Nice
Or in Prague, in General, Abroad.
On the Ground Again Returned Police.
The Play is Over. The Actors.
Beauty Is a Great Power
In the Capable Hands. She I Was Killed.
Ripe Berry from Paris.
I Like What I See.
I look Back Movie Interesting.
Tired and Faded Into the Chair.
Outside The Rain, The Night - 12 Hours.
My Warm Blanket, and Not Sophie Marceau.
Sorry!
I am a sheet of paper folded fourfold.
Spit rain, I get wet on the left.
My city ate the snotty weather.
Memory gives out beautiful moments -
Excerpts from the French film,
A short plot of a chaotic novel.
Sophie Marso smiles at me from the screen.
The love story is shown beautifully,
But this is France, and I live in Russia,
Walking along the street, going around the puddles,
Have dinner in the cafe, and in the head of a Frenchwoman.
We are something similar, nothing strange
But between us are the cities and the countries,
My women, her men,
Villas, yachts, white limousines,
And I further along the puddles ahead of the half -quarter.
It dripping for the neck, this was not enough!
Opposite the cafe beckoning me with lights,
I will definitely come, it will not get worse.
Free table, a square of the TV,
Vodka and juice, their pros and cons.
And again France and Russia.
Football. We measure the forces.
Imagine Paris, April or March,
Our meeting was predicted by cards.
It could come true, without fools,
If I were Nikita Mikhalkov,
Spoke French, lived in Nice
Or in Prague, in general, abroad.
The police returned to the ground again.
The play is over. Characters.
Beauty is a terrible force
In skillful hands. She killed me.
Ripe berry from Paris.
I like what I see.
I watch an interesting movie again.
Tired and dissolved in a chair.
Rain outside the window, night - 12 hours.
I warm me a blanket, not Sophie Marso.
It's a pity!
***
The Melancholy of An October Evening.
I'm a sheet of pper folded into Four.
Slanding Rain, I get wet on the left.
SOME Weather My City Ate.
Memory Shows The Beautiful Moments -
Excerpts from French Movies,
A Short Story Short Novel.
Sophie Marceau Smiling at Me from the Screen.
Love Story Shows Nice,
But this is France, and I Live in Russia,
On the Street Walking, Doding Puddles,
In the Cafe for Dinner, As Head of French.
We have something Similar, There's Nothing Strange
ButWeen Us Cits and Countries,
My Women, The Men,
Villas, yachts, White Limousines,
And I Went Through The Puddles Forward Half a Block.
The Collar of His Shirt Dripping, this is not enure!
Opposite the Cafe My Lights Beckoning,
'LL Definitely, It Wonmet Get Better.
Free Table, The Square of the TV,
Vodka and Juice, Its Pros and Cons.
And Again France and Russia.
Football. We measured forces.
Imagine Paris, April or march,
OUR Meeting Predicted Card.
This COULD COME TRUE, No Lie,
IF I WAS NIKITA MIKHALKOV,
SPOKE FRENCH, Lved in Nice
Or in Prague, in General, Abroad.
On the Ground Again Returned Police.
The Play is Over. The Actors.
Beauty Is a Great Power
In the Capable Hands. She I Was Killed.
Ripe Berry from Paris.
I Like What I See.
I look Back Movie Interesting.
Tired and Faded Into the Chair.
Outside The Rain, The Night - 12 Hours.
My Warm Blanket, and Not Sophie Marceau.
Sorry!
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