Евгений Исакевич - Продавец дождя
текст песни

There was a man once
Worries loaded,
Checking on paper
Where the best way went on.
After all, everyone longs for the sun
Only after finding
That not the bottomless flask
And the house is already far away.

He writhes in the desert
From thirst, like from torture,
One wishing a meeting
The hope is rich
That the downpour will pour from the sky
And soak to the thread,
Face, eyes and shoulders
Kissing at random.

But, breaking out of captivity
Desert deserts,
He will feel on the body
River coolness shine.
And after, certainly,
It will be forgotten for a long time
Those drops that flew
Salvation from heaven.

And you will understand, repenting
That rain is dirt and wind,
That the load of a wet burden
In vain you are taken
That the branches, getting wet,
They hit the body like a whip,
And wet soles
The treacherously glides.

And maybe it doesn’t matter
That everything will freeze in winter
That through the ice is the road
Sliding there and here, and
And the mirror will tell
That the first yoke fell out
And the drops will not help
From the caused colds.

Gathering lonely
In pursuit of health,
You remember on the road
Tilest ice
That long -awaited rain
He was warmer than blood
And by the way, cleaner than many
Water sources.

That rain, frozen Gray,
Small fire, noticing
On the leaves and on books,
He will be able to extinguish.
And from him faster
Flowers and children grow
And he will spill in an instant
Just ask.

The rain is driven by the wind
Carrying from century to century,
Again looking for moisture
Dry from thirst for mouth.
But all rains in the world
Falling, flowing into the rivers,
And also serve as food
For putrefactive swamps.