Казбанова Марина - Монолог Катерины - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Why do people not fly like birds? You know, sometimes it seems to me that I am a bird. When you stand on the mountain, so you are drawn to fly. That's how she would have scattered, raised her hands and flew. Try to try now? How frisky I was! I have completely tired you. I lived, did not push about anything, like a bird in the wild. Mom in me did not dull my souls, dressed me up like a doll, did not force me to work; What I want, I did. Do you know how I lived in girls? Here I will tell you now. I will get up early; If in the summer, so I go to the collar, I’ll be silent, I will bring with me water and all, all the flowers in the house are Polish. I had a lot of flowers. Then let's go with Mamenka to church, all and wanderers, - we have a full house of wanderers; Yes, a mantis. And we will come from the church, we’ll sit down for some work, more for velvet gold, and the wanderers will tell: where they were, what they saw, the lives are “different, or they sing poems. So the time will pass before lunch. Then the old women will fall asleep, and I walk in the garden. Then to Vespers, and in the evening again, stories and singing. That was good! Yes, everything is as if from a captivity here. And to death, I loved to go to church! Exactly, it happened that I would enter and do not see anyone into heaven, and I don’t remember the time, and I don’t hear when the service ends. Just like all this was in one second. Mamenka said that everyone used to look at me what was being done to me. And you know: on a sunny day, such a light pillar goes down from the dome, and in this pillar there is smoke, like a cloud, and I see, as if angels in this pillar fly and sing. And then, it happened, a girl, I’ll get up at night-we also burn the lamps everywhere-yes somewhere in the corner and pray until the morning. Or I will go to the garden early in the morning, only the sun rises, I will fall to the knee, I pray and cry, and I don’t know what I’m praying about and what I’m crying about; So they will find me. And what I prayed then, what I asked, I do not know; I don’t need anything, I had enough. And what dreams I dreamed of, Varenka, what dreams! Either the churches are golden, or some kind of unusual gardens, and everyone sings invisible voices, and it smells of cypress, and mountains and trees are not as usually, but as they are written in the images. And as if I were flying and flying through the air. And now sometimes dreams, but rarely, and not that.