Павел Кортунов - Нева-Москва - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

The sunset became crimson as if because the street musician shot him with his rock ballads. Aims, ruthless, cold -blooded. A little more, and will achieve. The night will come. Night. But he will not calm down and then. Until the very dawn. When his victim is returning, and they will begin an unequal battle first ...

At this place I had to postpone the book that I read on the tablet. She inspired him, motivated, discovered inspiration. But Sapsan was already mooring at the Moscow station in St. Petersburg. Plato came out to meet him ...

"Aria of the Moscow Guest" on the throat,

Back the philosophical two rivers

The channel, and you will become proud,

Like Moscow and Neva, they cut the eyelids.

Meet, now in the arena,

Plato - from the capital, student, loves rap.

Run through his widest vein,

Clutching the words - it is his bread.

Removing right in the center of the odnushka, he, with a view

On the cathedral for one,

Slightly blinding glows a halo,

And slides under the thickness of the depths.

And after praying at the threshold,

He soared from the entrance, not knowing about

That it flies elastic in front of the front door,

Yes, and the curb lay around the corner.

Doubt was overshadowed by Plato as soon as

The sneaker stepped on a granite shadow.

He decided to find out, really how much?

He will reveal the differences by the light.

And as if from a fairy tale in the gaze Larok!

I decided to uncorn the bottle of Winets,

And under arrest he thundered in Ragnarok.

The beginning was laid from the end,

With glasses, the seller assured him,

What gateway to call the arch,

There may only the most blasphemous enjoy.

Soon he will have to run!

Run away, run away from an angry choir

Indigenous and not very smart gentlemen,

So saints that the point of support,

The hero will lose, like the color of the sky.

Through benches, not shops, forward!

Past of Shawrema and bakers of bakers,

He should be inflated with a square, fly away,

In a word, from childhood, or something, scalp?

Spiritual scrapers are local - Mosts,

They will deliver from the island to another,

Castles, palaces, communal services - all stars

Cities shine one after one.

The musicians of all the streets were souched,

Baroque walls are trembling over them,

And at least henna, their hearts succeeded -

Rock guitar reefs will overthrow.

Streets, grandmothers, pigeons, crumbs,

Monument to the monument sideways on the side,

Rivers, canals, wells and cats,

Zinger, cops, and as a Serge ceiling.

And thaws on the shoulder blades,

And after patching from the call to the call,

Plato overtook another curse

The letters did not obey slightly.

Ghosts Tyutchev, Fet, Balmont,

At night, a delicate span was nightmaken

What is like a Plato's forehead for a show.

Irhulin's fears can no longer be calm.

What to shit with me with this retet?

Driving that the lassudk, are they lying?

Berry Nights Peled Lassvet,

So the thoughtful lifting is flooded.

Maybe the celestial age of Richodorye,

That this is the case from the cashier to the heels,

Here, on the Barty Balki Pillard,

The means that our moshas are chasing?

That we score the side on the tongue,

Luski, faithful, rich language,

And labely sow the joint in the joint,

Spring, from Kotologo Barmont Kildyk ...

"Drink" in St. Petersburg from the columns rushes,

The correct speech of the Einsor's thread.

I released the hero, because it is not sold,

Oil from vocabulary of pages.

Thunderstorm clouds, it is from those that arise lightning and carry tornadoes that were now for him with a feather pillow. The knock of wheels, and Sapsan carried Plato back to Moscow at a speed of 250 km/h, turned into thunder. This book cannot be postponed, Plato thought, who was pretty sipping over these days, opening Pandora's box, not otherwise. And at that moment a fellow traveler sat next to him. The passenger was surprisingly similar to an expert on one intellectual game from television. On Alexander is friendly. God! - Finally, it fell off the lips of Plato before he turned off.

06/03/2016

© Pavel Kortunov