Алексей Танана - Октябрь - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

[Swing]

The yellow-red peeling paint exposes rusty iron under it. Smelling of the oxide, cold, wet, rough to the touch, in its joints it sparkles polished whiteness. You make an effort with your hand and the seat with a creak moves away. Tagging, then attracting to you, swing the swing. The shades of the creak attack the eardrum. You lower the frozen hand and listen to the uneven industrial rhythm. You look like sticking fallen leaves with a wet wooden plank, you sit down and push your feet out of the ground, trying not to touch the puddles of the bouting in the crater right under you. The rattle now surrounds from all sides. And the spirit is breathtaking from the insanely staggering the earth before his eyes.

[Draft]

You seriously understand that October came, when a cold draft brazenly climbs into all the cracks of your clothes. This invisible stream slides over the surface, slightly bent the edges and pours you with cold. Goosebumps appear on the skin, hairs all over the body stand on end. Eyes begin to watery, as if delicately cut them with a knife. A draft is dampness and old age. Draft - the breath of the death of nature. All summer seems far and unreal. At the time of the autumn drafts, you do not know where to put yourself, this is the time of the wrong decisions and rash acts. At such a time, relationships and friends die. You understand that Verem has come to put on an autumn coat, or a jacket. But late: the draft has already passed you through. The throat is grinding, the nose, like a bitch, flows, and that began with tickling in a larynx, a cough like an approaching shooting, is becoming more and more obvious.

[October]

October looks through the windows, seeps through the cracks of those who do not want to dock the curtains. The smell of raw leaves and herbs, which have already experienced the first frosts and therefore rapidly living their year. Cyclists who are slipping on the outlying paths of the parks. The day is not yet short, but a premonition of twilight is constantly hanging in the air. This beauty of flying red and yellow is the most vile deception. This time of life turns back any dreams. The overwhelming sensation, as always, unexpectedly, the cold, restores in memory all last year's stages of this crisis. Each of them has its own weight. Every year, the total weight crushes more and more. Clouches and spreads underfoot. Eyes are looking for a way out and do not find. On frozen hands, the knuckles of the fingers become white, and the scars become purple.