Дмитрий Михеенко - На Патриарших
текст песни

I saw her in a photo
standing at Patriarch's Ponds.
It was Saturday in the capital,
and Zeus threatened rain.
But someone wise remarked:
whoever loves is a loser.
The corrupt gambler is sold,
and you are already defeated.
I remember my losses,
I remember too much.
How elusive the word,
like jumping out the window after it.
Yemelya sweeps the week,
mixing the clock with the chapel,
with Ivanov's two-volume work,
crushing his brains into oatmeal.
My liner meets the "Sharik,"
a bus takes me to the "Vodny."
I'm familiar with the capital's routes,
a little afraid of the metro.
And my meeting was a freebie,
like a ball shaking the globe.
And my soul acquired feelings,
and my insides awaited a miracle.
But I remember my losses;
somehow, it's an experience. Voronezh floated past the window,
I went out to smoke on Likhaya Street.
But I heard: "Stand back, Emelya!
For your rebirth,
you'll have to beg. Do you remember how bad you are inside?"
And I keep looking at the photo
of Saturday at Patriarch's Ponds.
And life floats by,
and death at zero twenty-five.
The Vishnyakovsky Market is chattering,
the Caucasus respects its elders.
And the stiflers will trample my soul,
like a causeway in a swamp.
But I remember my losses.
I saw her in a photograph,
I followed her on the subway,
I even touched her lips...
They walk along the causeway to the shore,
leaving the swamp of love.
Only the walls press at night
on my poetic corpse