Адамант Луар - Шесть с половиной недель - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

The city is spent sleepily in the morning, the avenues are filled with people playing in the tug of rope, enjoying bustle. I was here once, now absolutely alien, and I do not want to go back to the life from which I went consciously. I am sorting out a pile of unnecessary paper in my pockets, find a broken cigarette, cigaret it. I turn off the foundry to Pestel, then to Mokhovaya, I go into a dark bar, drink a glass or two, let the steam let out. Drinking in the morning can be unethical, but I have long forgotten about decency. My jacket is dented and torn, my voice looks like a crow's croaking, my eyes see through the emptiness of the world, in the head of the mess. Hundreds of different apartments over the past five years, lack of fear, collapse.

The silent bartender looks reproachfully, tapping his fingers on the rack, I take out a piece of crumpled paper, I write some lines. Recently, I have been leaving reality so, not wanting to change anything dramatically, relaxing from righteousness, I am going sideways with her. I don’t even notice how noon comes, the gods penetrate thoughts, try to direct to the true path. I know nothing about the truth, I promise them, someday-sincerely.

The female voice on the right breaks thoughts. She talks about problems, or maybe happiness. Without trying to catch the essence, I remember only her name - Nastya. She drinks vodka, sticks out some rhythm-my mind, killed by her motives, boils. She asks about life, I respond with general phrases, calling me a bastard a couple of times, she turns away, then turns again and notices that my ugliness makes me not like everyone else. Taking my appearance as a basis, she tells me about me. She says-say, say.

We are transplanted at the table, a light snack, a lot of drink. I am calm, she is satisfied. I extract a little moral from her words, I understand that she is shitty in life, she is without work for six months, already February, and nothing new. Outside the windows the weather is rubbish. She was fooled to get up early, standing in lines on the labor exchange, walking on newspapers clippings, she seems to be a car mechanic. I listen and smoke cigarettes. I begin to like this dark place. Then she says that she would have left for a long time, but her bike is laid, and it is not yet possible to redeem it. I remember the old Mike, I give her his number - he has a car repair shop and recently died Ignat, who worked for him for ten years. I think Mike will be glad to update his staff if she really is a car mechanic. Then we drink for her new work, send to hell all problems, concerns of everyday life. She sings some kind of song-either in Swedish, or in German.

The whole day was spent in a tavern. Fortunately, I have some money, it will be enough to pay the bill. During the conversation, chaotic thoughts every now and then go on flight. When we leave the bar, it is already dark on the street. There are few passers -by, windows are lit, a people crowded near the theater. Gray, either snow -covered, or a rainy city, drying away from a drink. We go to Greek, there she monitors the apartment, go along the way to the store, buy wine, then enter the front line, in which she carries as in the toilet. We rise to the second floor, everything inside is torn from the evening whip. We drink until six in the morning, we say, fall asleep, wake up together. Tea, cigarettes, bed, life -affirming songs - six and a half weeks.