Сергей Плотницкий - Ю.Левитанский. Время, бесстрашный художник
текст песни

Time, fearless artist,
Like on white pages,
Something writes and writes
On human faces.

He drives the neck with a grifl.
A thin feather - too.
Acute with a needle of engraver.
The exact hand of the make -up artist ...

The sacrament of light and shadow.
Arrows, circles and squares.
Our early losses.
Our late losses.

The dashes of our beast.
Spots are birthday.
The burden of family resemblance
With God and with a handful of dust.

Our stinginess and generosity.
Our vanity and futility.
Hannight or pride.
Courage and virtue ...

Here is a person painted
So that he already hurts.
He already asks:
- Enough,
You see, I'm all painted!

But he does not hear his request
The truth is the exacting master.
So he threw the felt -tip pen,
He writes a thin brush.

I already took the feather in the hand -
He writes dying flour.
The last bar.
Small dash only ...

So we are from the first scream
And to the last sigh
He writes in his own time
(Era, Age, era).

Writes in a conditional manner
And as they once wrote.
Like on a square faner
The mournful date is written.

Reflections. Glitters. Glare.
The spots were white and gouache.
Our sinless faces.
Our sinful faces ...

Here is a man among the field
Falled, and the eyes were empty.
He died in a home bed.
I dropped out of the eternal battle.

He is already not a warrior in the field.
Moving with hand is not free.
He will not say anymore:
- Enough! -
All. He no longer hurts.