Дымовая завеса - Я просто чем-то болен..стр 80
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Дымовая завеса - Я просто чем-то болен..стр 80 - оригинальный текст песни, перевод, видео
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В одной из прочитанной старой книжке,
У той что страницы на ладане дышат,
В переплете затертом, старом, кожанном,
Где была описанна истина (может быть..)
Та, что в детстве не раз перечитана,
Верил я - страна есть, что в ней описана,
Город, золотые врата я представлял мысленно,
Райских птиц, красою неистовой..
Который день маялся в поисках входа
В мир тот загадочный, планы строил,
-Где же он?!- не раз я кричал в пустоту...
Потом снова на полу... слушал тишину...
А в тот день самый уже утро было,
Уставшая ночь на свой покой уходила,
Я голос услышал.. кого-то свыше,
Всё буд-то бы замерло, всё тише и тише.
Голос говорил - я покажу что ты ищешь,
Путь в ту страну, о которой в книгах пишут,
Иди со мной но знай, дорога нелегка,
Нам с ветром по пути через леса и облака.
Помолился, собрался я в свой последний путь,
Спросил могу ли попрощаться хоть с кем-нибудь,
Родную мать обнять, ведь больше не увидимся,
Затем ступить туда.. в мечты, что снились мне.
Вдруг темнота такая, что не видел раньше,
Затем свет яркий, что ослепил глаза мне даже,
Хрустальный град увидел, златые врата,
Вот оно - то место, о чем мечтал когда-то..
( Я просто чем-то болен, но не более..
Все мы чем-то больны, каждый по-своему..
По-своему пытаемся справиться с этой болью
Боремся с собой каждый по своему )
Когда от человека остается только имя,
Вероятно проще взять и выкопать себе могилу,
Как миллионы тел я не хотел быть просто первым,
Воображенье подарило мне совсем другую веру.
Я был другим и ненавидел мир себе подобных,
Так любящих себя от колыбели и до гроба,
Мало места среди вас, считающих меня уродом,
Шторами завесил окна, замки на затворы.
Темно и холодно, по полу пыль слоем ровным,
Плотная.. из крана капают капли мокрые,
Намотана снаружи проводка, провода и кнопки,
Отсутствие тока - здесь видимо выбило пробки.
Вечерами убиваю время не у телевизора,
А в погоне за мечтой, той, что слепит искрами,
Жгет мысли, быстро, пламенем неистовым,
С ума сводит прикосновением единственным.
Ночью слышу то, о чем читал в книжках,
И Он зовет меня туда где я бы не был лишним..
Если он действительно знает, и это правда,
Тогда стоит рискнуть.. но я не видел его карты.
-Покажи мне дорогу в Апреле.. В первых числах.. -
Безумие, новый выстрел, снова приступ,
Весна без сна, но уже засветло,
Красками режет свет глаза красные.
Бритва опасная, или в аптеке пара пачек "лекарства",
Укажет в ту сказку точный адрес.
Потом свет, бинты, снова бинты, вата..
И вместо Ангелов - врачи в белых халатах.
( Я просто чем-то болен, но не более..
Все мы чем-то больны, каждый по-своему..
По-своему пытаемся справиться с этой болью
Боремся с собой каждый по своему )
Я видел всё больше и больше,
То блестящее и живое, что мешало мне смотреть,
Перестало блестеть и дышать,
Поверхность высохла и стала сжиматься,
Открывая мне возможность видеть вокруг,
Неужели я один ? Я зацепился взглядом за очень знакомое,
-Это листок какой то книги, я попытался всмотреться,
Но разглядел только номер страницы - номер 80...
( Я просто чем-то болен, но не более..
Все мы чем-то больны, каждый по-своему..
По-своему пытаемся справиться с этой болью
Боремся с собой каждый по своему )
In one of the old book read,
The fact that the pages on the incery are breathing,
In the binding of a wiped, old, leather,
Where the truth was described (maybe ..)
The one that has been re -read more than once in childhood,
I believed - there is a country that is described in it,
I represented the city, the golden gates mentally,
Paradise birds, the beauty of frantic ..
Which day was flying in search of the entrance
To the world that mysterious, I made plans,
-Where is he?!- more than once I shouted into the void ...
Then again on the floor ... listened to the silence ...
And that day it was already the morning,
The tired night went to my peace,
I heard a voice .. someone from above,
Everything would have froze, everything is quieter and quieter.
The voice said - I will show what you are looking for
The path to the country that is written in books,
Go with me but know, the road is not easy,
We and the wind on the way through forests and clouds.
I prayed, I gathered in my last journey,
I asked if I can say goodbye to anyone,
Mother to hug her mother, because we will no longer see you,
Then step there .. in the dreams that I dreamed of.
Suddenly the darkness is such that I have not seen before,
Then the light is bright that I even blinded my eyes,
Crystal hail saw the golden gates,
Here it is - the place that I once dreamed about ..
(I'm just sick with something, but no more ..
We are all sick with something, each in its own way ..
In our own way we are trying to cope with this pain
Bowing with them each in his own way)
When only a name remains from a person,
It is probably easier to take and dig up your grave,
Like millions of bodies, I did not want to be just the first,
The imagination gave me a completely different faith.
I was different and hated the world of my own kind,
So loving themselves from the cradle to the coffin,
Little space among you, considering me a freak,
Curtains curtains windows, locks on the shutters.
It is dark and cold, the dust is even on the floor, even,
Dense .. wet drops are dripped from the tap,
Wiring, wires and buttons are wound outside,
Lack of current - here apparently knocked out traffic jams.
In the evenings I kill the time not at the TV,
And in pursuit of a dream, the one that blinds sparks,
Burning thoughts, quickly, flames with frantic,
Crazy drives the only one by touch.
I hear what I read in books at night,
And he calls me where I would not be superfluous ..
If he really knows, and it's true
Then it is worth taking a chance .. But I did not see his cards.
-To I tell me the way in April .. in the first days .. -
Madness, a new shot, an attack again,
Spring without sleep, but already dawn,
Red lights cut the lights of the light.
The razor is dangerous, or in the pharmacy of a couple of packs "medicine",
He will indicate the exact address in that fairy tale.
Then light, bandages, bandages again, cotton wool ..
And instead of angels - doctors in white coats.
(I'm just sick with something, but no more ..
We are all sick with something, each in its own way ..
In our own way we are trying to cope with this pain
Bowing with them each in his own way)
I saw more and more
Then shiny and living that prevented me from watching,
Stopped shining and breathing
The surface was dry and began to contract,
Opening me the opportunity to see around
Am I alone? I hooked on the very familiar
-this is a piece of some book, I tried to peer,
But I saw only the page number - number 80 ...
(I'm just sick with something, but no more ..
We are all sick with something, each in its own way ..
In our own way we are trying to cope with this pain
Bowing with them each in his own way)
The fact that the pages on the incery are breathing,
In the binding of a wiped, old, leather,
Where the truth was described (maybe ..)
The one that has been re -read more than once in childhood,
I believed - there is a country that is described in it,
I represented the city, the golden gates mentally,
Paradise birds, the beauty of frantic ..
Which day was flying in search of the entrance
To the world that mysterious, I made plans,
-Where is he?!- more than once I shouted into the void ...
Then again on the floor ... listened to the silence ...
And that day it was already the morning,
The tired night went to my peace,
I heard a voice .. someone from above,
Everything would have froze, everything is quieter and quieter.
The voice said - I will show what you are looking for
The path to the country that is written in books,
Go with me but know, the road is not easy,
We and the wind on the way through forests and clouds.
I prayed, I gathered in my last journey,
I asked if I can say goodbye to anyone,
Mother to hug her mother, because we will no longer see you,
Then step there .. in the dreams that I dreamed of.
Suddenly the darkness is such that I have not seen before,
Then the light is bright that I even blinded my eyes,
Crystal hail saw the golden gates,
Here it is - the place that I once dreamed about ..
(I'm just sick with something, but no more ..
We are all sick with something, each in its own way ..
In our own way we are trying to cope with this pain
Bowing with them each in his own way)
When only a name remains from a person,
It is probably easier to take and dig up your grave,
Like millions of bodies, I did not want to be just the first,
The imagination gave me a completely different faith.
I was different and hated the world of my own kind,
So loving themselves from the cradle to the coffin,
Little space among you, considering me a freak,
Curtains curtains windows, locks on the shutters.
It is dark and cold, the dust is even on the floor, even,
Dense .. wet drops are dripped from the tap,
Wiring, wires and buttons are wound outside,
Lack of current - here apparently knocked out traffic jams.
In the evenings I kill the time not at the TV,
And in pursuit of a dream, the one that blinds sparks,
Burning thoughts, quickly, flames with frantic,
Crazy drives the only one by touch.
I hear what I read in books at night,
And he calls me where I would not be superfluous ..
If he really knows, and it's true
Then it is worth taking a chance .. But I did not see his cards.
-To I tell me the way in April .. in the first days .. -
Madness, a new shot, an attack again,
Spring without sleep, but already dawn,
Red lights cut the lights of the light.
The razor is dangerous, or in the pharmacy of a couple of packs "medicine",
He will indicate the exact address in that fairy tale.
Then light, bandages, bandages again, cotton wool ..
And instead of angels - doctors in white coats.
(I'm just sick with something, but no more ..
We are all sick with something, each in its own way ..
In our own way we are trying to cope with this pain
Bowing with them each in his own way)
I saw more and more
Then shiny and living that prevented me from watching,
Stopped shining and breathing
The surface was dry and began to contract,
Opening me the opportunity to see around
Am I alone? I hooked on the very familiar
-this is a piece of some book, I tried to peer,
But I saw only the page number - number 80 ...
(I'm just sick with something, but no more ..
We are all sick with something, each in its own way ..
In our own way we are trying to cope with this pain
Bowing with them each in his own way)
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