ВАНТУЗ - НА САМОМ ДЕЛЕ
текст песни

Everything I need will be created now and here
While pride and despair boil like a mixture
And focusing on this
I will disappear and immediately appear as a poet
At least that's what I believe when I disappear again
I send my new self on a word search
This is the free will that he breathes
When the soul flies and the hand writes freely
About anything, as long as it’s not about me
About a man and concrete houses in the window
You never have to write, soul, remember this
From the pit of the city you can’t reach the light with your hands
I'm like a robot, I carry out songs like orders
Without knowing hunger, fatigue or illness
And all you need is forty-eight lines above
The one who writes while sitting somewhere on a sloping roof

In fact, if all this were not so
Every passing fool would write and sing
And instead of the daily gray work routine
He would paint pictures like Grandfather Roerich
A mountain of questions grows in the land of prohibitions
Wanting fame, they climb there in search of secrets
Most likely the birds will get them if they are there
If you assemble it according to the diagram without understanding it yourself, you will get rubbish
Take it neither higher nor lower, but in the middle
Creation is one and not two in half
Creating anything in the golden ratio
Let's leave this forever and not for fun
My soul flies high behind the clouds
Alas, my hand doesn’t have time to write everything down.
Few people know how many songs have not yet been sung
Perhaps this was once one of them

I disappear if my body becomes crowded
Whatever happens, as long as it is written honestly
If it’s not direct, then the meaning lies between the lines
In a poem where there are no commas or periods
When I finish, my dashing pride will awaken
Whispering in my ear like a rhyme, I became a slave
And I, believing this lie, will blindly draw a conclusion
Becoming very proud but for a short period
Someone else wrote it all
Typing text with my hand
And I thought I made it up myself
Playing with rhymes to different words
Despair and pride temporarily collided with each other
Created a conflict within to take possession of the poems
And after overhearing, I’ll tell others about it later
How hard it really is to be a poet

How hard it really is to be a poet
It's time to talk about it
It's time to talk about it
How hard it really is to be a poet