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В чужом пиру дорогой коньяк, что вода из лужи, Dm E Am
Непроходима нелепых праздников череда, Dm E C A7
Один лишь праздник есть, который и вправду нужен, Dm E Am F
И то, похоже, что его нет с тобой никогда. H7 E Am
Такой вот праздник, он не радует датой красной, F G C
Не обещает он ни водки, ни пирога, Dm E Am
Он просто тихо берет за горло и шепчет: «Празднуй Dm E Am F
Начало долгого возвращенья на берега». H7 E Am
Допустим, так: сходя с покатых холмов Китая,
Таясь от взглядов любопытствующих селян,
Ты остановишься перед границею, выжидая,
Покуда солнце не закатится в гаолян.
Чтобы никто не опознал тебя по приметам,
Чтоб не поймали тебя угрюмые погранцы,
Чтобы не выдало тебя солнце, сияя в медном
Нагрудном знаке "За переправу через Янцзы".
Сюжет пошел, и он достался тебе недаром –
Тот самый праздник, коего нет с тобой никогда.
Ты позвонишь ей, ты назначишь ей встречу в старом
Забытом парке, возле статуи у пруда,
Где ты по-прежнему начальник волшебных елок,
Что защекочут незадачливого врага,
Ты встретишь ее, ты скажешь "Здравствуй" и будет долог
Ваш путь обратно на еловые берега.
Сюжет нескладен, механик туп, хоть и рад стараться,
И на экране разгоняется как всегда
Мельканье титров, цифр, крестиков, перфораций,
Цветные фантики и прочая лабуда.
Мне как соавтору вроде как бы и не по рангу,
Но к ритуалу подключиться не премину,
И вместе со зрителями кричу я: "Сапожник, рамку!
Не обижайся, киномеханик, крути кину".
In someone else's feast, expensive cognac, that water is from a puddle, dm e am
An impassable holiday is a series, dm e c a7
There is only one holiday, which really is needed, dm e am f
And then it seems that he is never with you. H7 E Am
Such a holiday, it does not please the date of red, f g c c c c c c c.
He does not promise neither vodka nor pie, dm e am
He just quietly takes his throat and whispers: “Celebrate dm e am f
The beginning of a long return to the shore. " H7 E Am
Suppose, so: going off the sloping hills of China,
Hung up from the views of the curious villagers,
You will stop in front of the border, waiting
As long as the sun will not roll up to Gaolyan.
So that no one will recognize you according to the signs,
So that the gloomy border guards do not catch you,
To prevent you from betraying you, shining in copper
Breast sign "For crossing through the Yangtze."
The plot went, and it was not without reason that you got it -
The same holiday, which never with you.
You will call her, you will make an appointment in the old
Forgotten park, near the statue at the pond,
Where are you still the chief of magic Christmas trees,
That the unlucky enemy will click,
You will meet her, you say "hello" and will be long
Your path back to the spruce shores.
The plot is unsuccessful, the mechanic is stupid, although glad to try,
And on the screen accelerates as always
Flickering of credits, numbers, crosses, perforations,
Colored candy wrappers and other crap.
I, as a co -author, seemed to me like a rank,
But not to connect to the ritual, not a premium
And together with the audience I shout: "Board, frame!
Don’t be offended, cinema, I’ll throw it. ”
An impassable holiday is a series, dm e c a7
There is only one holiday, which really is needed, dm e am f
And then it seems that he is never with you. H7 E Am
Such a holiday, it does not please the date of red, f g c c c c c c c.
He does not promise neither vodka nor pie, dm e am
He just quietly takes his throat and whispers: “Celebrate dm e am f
The beginning of a long return to the shore. " H7 E Am
Suppose, so: going off the sloping hills of China,
Hung up from the views of the curious villagers,
You will stop in front of the border, waiting
As long as the sun will not roll up to Gaolyan.
So that no one will recognize you according to the signs,
So that the gloomy border guards do not catch you,
To prevent you from betraying you, shining in copper
Breast sign "For crossing through the Yangtze."
The plot went, and it was not without reason that you got it -
The same holiday, which never with you.
You will call her, you will make an appointment in the old
Forgotten park, near the statue at the pond,
Where are you still the chief of magic Christmas trees,
That the unlucky enemy will click,
You will meet her, you say "hello" and will be long
Your path back to the spruce shores.
The plot is unsuccessful, the mechanic is stupid, although glad to try,
And on the screen accelerates as always
Flickering of credits, numbers, crosses, perforations,
Colored candy wrappers and other crap.
I, as a co -author, seemed to me like a rank,
But not to connect to the ritual, not a premium
And together with the audience I shout: "Board, frame!
Don’t be offended, cinema, I’ll throw it. ”
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