Олег Швец - Емейл-песня сестре - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Evgenia Pashkovskaya. Email song to sister.

1.

Since you and your husband moved overseas in ninety-six,

I was once in your Odessa and one evening I found your yard.

The door from the kitchen directly into the passage under the arch is now guarded by a dude with an oak tree,

there is an office in the apartment: of course, this is Pushkinskaya, so what else?

I stood with him. He is from near Kishinev, in a city somewhere around two thousand and seven,

He didn’t let me in, although I was eager, then I tried to fight,

but now the cops don’t bother foreigners,

so he walked to the beach and lay down with his face to the sky;

There was a buzz in my head: How are you? Where are you?

Since leaving you, I jumped into a reserved seat, run-down locomotive,

little has changed here, although renovations were everywhere and Privoz was closed,

The sheets are still drying on the bald head of the founder of Esperanto.

And how I miss you. Of course. To me. You. Lacks! God!

2.

I'm in full damn middle age: there's no reason to wake up, it's not easy to fall asleep.

Do you remember, I have a fig in my pocket for everything: I had one for memory, apparently it was stolen.

It’s not about how long you lived, but how many you survived, because the elders are always more careful.

So I began to realize that if you call someone, it’s cool when he can answer with his voice.

Although, the key word here is “still”, my father still plays football, and my grandfather is still alive.

I see their backs ahead of me on the escalator, which is definitely already going down.

I don't know what's in there for them.

For my father, it must have been a mug of water, without which he would have remained in the desert, with his back to the wheel of a stalled shishiga.

For my grandfather, a bust of Stalin, cast from bullets that flew past and the black sea, mostly from the tears of loved ones.

3.

No, I no longer scream at night, I hardly get bored or angry.

Speaking of my heart, it now syncopates slightly from strong tea,

if my wife falls asleep next to me with her nose in my neck, or my little son grabs my finger,

if I realize that his crib will one day be empty.

And if I see you on Skype and understand that you will no longer be thirty, but I will be twenty.

that I’m bald, I look at you and I can’t burst into tears because of the half of my life that we haven’t seen each other.

Gestalt, bitch, is not completed. I'm older than you were then.

Please don't come back.