Аля Кудряшева - Есть люди, которые... - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

There are people who write as transparent as a mountain lake with narrow shores. They compose it and immediately hide it so that no one, God forbid, is trampling with their feet, it is as thin, invisible as the king’s dress, only real, lumpy, unearthly, after-year, something from through the sky-high-thelert.

There are women who look so beautiful that it’s even embarrassing to breathe with them with the same air, they will look at you - well, only once, for a moment - and you can die happy, and everyone, here, dangled, they are so light, unfamiliar, at the same time weak And strong - it seems that I just sewed her with milk, fed with her hand a sobs of orange, she laughed, thought something important asked something like: “I washed the dishes?”, Then she looked gently with moist eyes - and you are from the happiness of the word of the word You can’t utter.

There is time-it is very different for everyone, when you become part of something in common, let’s say somewhere on a loud ringing holiday, or maybe, in the night, making your way through the forest, your movements become too smooth, and your hands are awkward, the melodies are full, and the melodies are full, and the melodies are full, and the melodies are full So, here your note is one, but the main thing, play it, well, please, so that they understand.

There is one who has only troubles with us, only concerns, insomnia and hardships, he is already difficult for him, he squeezes his forehead, and you and I look and look forward to some comfort, and we are waiting for the road right and the only one, so as to go And go where you want. It is - torture, the din, a non -casist - with his back, probably groans - when all this will end. And what to do - after all, he himself invented all this, now dig in their insults, betrayals, jealousy, he looked around and apologized - I will say, I will return and answer everyone according to his needs.

He sits on the porch and looks with fright on his arms - why all this, nobody likes it, and the sky has already spread the flashlights above him, and breathes cold - oh, arthritis will play.

And in the house it smells of medicine, burning, the temple hurts, and his heart is silent and ... and he lowers his head, coughing nervously and in a hoarse voice: "I listen to you ..."