ТР.ОПА, Олег W-n Автономов - Сверчок
текст песни

I'm a hungry cricket
Under the All-Seeing Eye.
I chew my bow,
When I'm lonely.
I can't help but sing,
Even though I can't sing,
I sing as I run,
Trying to throw off my livery.

My neighbor, the wolfhound,
Converted me,
Telling me over wine
Of good manners,
But my compass is playing tricks,
For ages now—
The parasite,
Gives me husks instead of ears of grain.

Dinner, breakfast, lunch:
A handful of poppy seeds for a fig;
The spiteful neighbor has become an alcoholic,
Growling: "You cheated me!"—
And I play at night
On the violin in the fireplace
And wish for there to be no trace of
Grief.

I smoke, I gaze
At distant stars,
And in the morning I say,
That all this is more serious
Than contented faces
On a soft sofa;
I'd like to fall in love –
But my pocket is empty.

Somewhere out there, beyond the canvas
Beauty lives. –
But we're still not talking about it,
We're still not there.

There, beyond this canvas
Beauty sings. –
But we're still not talking about it,
We're still not there.

The entrance to my fireplace is open,
I'm not building a fortress here.
My hearth is always burning,
Which is absurd for mongrels.
I love fools,
But sometimes they're a burden, -
After all, for my cricket brothers
It's a strange joy.

I'll jam Dire Straits
into the guts of the stereo,
I'll relieve myself of stress
And the injection marks
And gaze thoughtfully
At the main wall,
To sing about it,
Walking naked on stage,

Because behind this canvas
Beauty lives. -
But we're still not talking about it,
We're still not there.

There, behind this canvas
Beauty sings. -
But we're still not talking about it,
We're still not there.