Олег Барабаш - Чёрная книжка
текст песни

Black as black. Snow cuts the eyes
Take the burning truth out of the hut
Stop the pounding heart on the run
Drank bitter grief, chewed words
Drowned in the cold birch sea
Did not leave his country

A restless Cain
Lick the frozen shores of his heels
The gentleman to the square
Demons in his eye sockets
On the edge and along the edge
We are all the seventh water
In which both life and death
Equally - will dissolve

In the gray spruce forest as a wolf
In the sky as a magic bird
The soul left
Left an empty body
And if I have to be born again
If only in this same white
In this shrouded
In this on chicken legs
Country

That shoots me in the back, with half-empty train stations
Cities to which you will never return
With the names of people whom you will never see again
Red is falling over the horizon sun

Black book

Black book
My black book
My homeland is a black book
My black book

In the holes of the wells of stars a shining abyss
I drank this sky by the bucketful and still did not get drunk
Soon there will be a blizzard and we will be buried up to our necks
Evil winds will start swirling over our heads

What do we carry within us, what a dense force
What a terrible mystery, what a silent abyss
Wide-open eyes, freshly dug graves
Tightly clenched teeth, iron fence

My princess is sleeping, whiter than white light
To wake her up - to walk the firmament under the sky
Only crows and "funnels" on Koshchei's land
Where can I get some warmth to warm my hands?
Where can I get some warmth to warm my hands?

In the icy steppe the coachman will treat us to a cigarette
Our dead protect us in a way that the living do
In these sad lands, every third one, consider an apostle,
Deprived of wings for earthly love

The wind lashes in the face and over the emptiness the horses
And they fly and carry, and there is no turning back
I look at the sunset through the holes in my palms
Either a Russian poet, or Ivan the Fool

Either a Russian poet, or Ivan the Fool

A black book
My black book
My homeland is a black book
My black book

All the same, we will all leave, we will all fall asleep under the iron cross,
We will become the shadow of the earth, a numb living layer
Love us, Lord, right now, do not disdain
What is this "later" of yours to us
What is this "later" of yours to us?

What does it matter that they are black and gloomy, if we tear apart the chest
To see what this hole of yours is filled with
Then they will scatter across the floor to the very edge of the gloom
Malachite and jasper and turquoise
Malachite and jasper and turquoise

On these whitening pages we will lie down in a ligature,
Cuddling up to each other, growing under the spine.
Tomorrow morning I will leave. Tell me about evil happiness

Yes, pour
half a glass
for the road

Yes, pour half a glass. Yes, pour half a glass
For the road

Yes, pour half a glass. You pour half a glass
For the road

Black book
My black book
My homeland is a black book
My black book