Письмо - Ангелу - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

I am writing to you, angel! I am writing, because our meeting was doubtfully lost somewhere on the winding paths of our lives under the armfuls of autumn sadness leaves, and maybe under the snowdrifts of heavy winter sleep. I am not writing to you because you are in white, with the right actions and a halo above your head. Because you have invisible wings that only those who are dear to your existence are known. I am writing because you know how to think with my thoughts, look at the world with my eyes, confuse with cunning grin and answer with your craziness to my madness ... Because you save. You know, angel, I am waiting for you on a cup of coffee and a glass of cognac tomorrow, yesterday and three years later, somehow in the evening, at 7 hours, or maybe in the morning ... I know you will come, and I will tell you about my life , or maybe a fairy tale ... or together, sing in voices hoarse from tobacco. You will listen, you will take a candle from my fall and replace in December, and I will be warm and you will want to cry. A lot of time passed, flew, ran from the moment of our last meeting, although mentally, electronically, formally, but as you like ... you are always with me and only when you hide you in yourself, nothing can find you and your traces. During this time, I seemed to have lived a few lives, played thousands of roles that are unlike my reflection and blame the one that I ran up the steps up and rolled down the railing, because this is experience ... but this is not this The main thing. This is not the main thing, the angel, especially, I already know what you will answer. You will say that I am strong, but just tired of giving my love to loved ones daily, give hope and grabbly grab happiness, and then count the scars in the soul and still remain the same with a smile. Angel! This time the fact is that I am confused. Web, wires, railing, stairs, games, rules, thoughts to smithereens and there is no main thing ... There is no sense, there is no reason and there is no reason. One bustle is already tired that there is no more place for the soul. The distance deceived its distant, significantly frightened its proximity, high feelings fell to their knees because of the shocked beliefs, and the price of friendship is rapidly reduced directly in proportion to my need increasing in it. I know, an angel, you will not be able to write out on a piece of paper and read useful tips for me in poetry, but I ask you, I ask you to send me a piece of the world that lives in you to illuminate me on the road from our common memory To bring me to our lost meeting. And in it I will find strength, forces, in order to again turn my black and white life into a bright dream. With love, I ...