Кортасар - Сахар - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Since childhood, I have a need: if something has fallen, I have to raise it, no matter what it falls, and if I do not lift it, then trouble will certainly happen, not necessarily with me, but with someone I love and whose name It begins with the same letter as the name of the fallen object. And worst that there is no power that can hold me if something fell to the floor, and it is useless to raise something else-it is not considered, the misfortune will happen. How many times because of this they took me for a madman, and I really become like crazy, how abnormal I rush for a piece of paper, or a pencil, or-as then-for a piece of sugar in a restaurant on the street, in a luxurious restaurant, a bit full of business people, whores in black -burgers and exemplary married couples. We were there with Ronald and Etienne, a piece of sugar jumped out of my hands and rolled under the table, which was quite far from us. First of all, I drew attention to how he rolled, because a piece of sugar usually just falls to the floor and does not roll anywhere due to its rectangular shape. The same rolled like a ball of Naftalin, why my fears intensified, and I even thought that they pulled it out of my hands. Ronald, who knows me, looked where, apparently, sugar was supposed to roll, and burst out laughing. This scared me even more, rage mixed up for fear. The waiter came up, believing that I dropped something valuable, a Parker pen, for example, or an inserted jaw, but he only interfered with me, and I, without saying a word, darted to look for a piece of sugar under the soles of people who burned with curiosity from curiosity. (and with a full basis), thinking that we are talking about something extremely important. At the table was a huge red-haired woman, another, not so thick, but healthy whore and two managers or something like that. First of all, I realized that there was no sugar anywhere, although I saw with my own eyes that he rolled under the table, to the very shoes that fussed under the table, like chickens. In my misfortune, the floor was covered with a carpet, and although the carpet was pretty worn, the sugar could hide into the pile so that it could not be found. The waiter sank to the floor on the other side of the table, and we both on all fours crawled between the shoes, and their owner clutched over the table as crazy. The waiter was still sure that we were talking about a Parker pen or some jewel, and when we both completely clogged under the table, in a half, which had a complete mutual trust, and he asked me, and I answered him, and I answered everything, as it is, he hid such a face that it was just right to spray it with a reflector varnish, but I was not laughing, fear of a ring squeezed my stomach and in the end brought me completely despair (the waiter crawled out of the table), and I started grab women for shoes and fumble in a recess under a heel-is it hiding sugar there, and the chicken clucked, and the roosters-managers pecked my ridge, I heard Ronald with Etienne, but could not stop and crawled from the table to the table while to the table while I did not find sugar lurking at the chair, behind a leg in the style of the second empire. Everyone around was furious, and I myself was angry, squeezing sugar in the palm of my hand and feeling how it mixed with later and how it melts vilely, how sticky is taking revenge on me, and these are the things with me - that not a day.