AK - Мы встретимся, наверное... Потом... И я спрошу.. - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

And autumn - as luck would have it - not gold: either gray rain drizzles in the morning, then the wind of the northern foliage from the birches breaks ... I look out the window of a flying taxi. And somehow in life, everything is not thank God - and it is cold at home, and the heart is junk ... We, it seems, is not going in the leg again - then someone is lagging behind, otherwise we are in a hurry, we can’t keep up with each other .. And it seems - what is the trouble? After all, I am a little more than twenty. And at this age, farewell is nonsense! There will be so many of them - joyful, sad, until new meetings or until the years, in advance, in advance, random, without words of farewell and with tears after, explosive, crazy, erroneous, sudden, such that suddenly breathtaking ... and meetings of the same - Secret, incomprehensible, when you really want to sometimes think out loud ...

And yet, in my life, everything is inappropriate - not with those nearby, I’m not writing about that ... but I would be huddled into the corner of the bed, finally think - what am I breathing?

Wait! Listen, is it me?! I am not like that - I am always in business, and nearby, both my beloved, and the family ... Why is the spleen and nerves to the limit? After all, I myself always slow down all so that my noses do not hang, do not ache, because I write poems cheerful - well, albeit not often, but they were! I’m all the same as in a thunderstorm - to walk that the old ball sometimes still drives, that he writes thoughts in an old notebook, that he collects the first leaves in the bouquets and gives them to passers -by - just to see warm smiles into the rain ... and How did it happen that only one step, one ridiculous, unexpected mistake suddenly and will make me grow up? Forget about the ball and kefir with cinnamon? And films - only "smart" watch, run away from meetings and rush everywhere ... Who is this girl, what sleeps inside me under this linen of cold tears of autumn? She is not me, because I do not want to hug you ... But you are one of those - the last, after which at least a storm, at least a flood - but they are not able to evict them from the heart ...

We will meet, probably ... then ... and I will ask:

- Well, where did you wear you?! I? Yes, the same! You see - here is a bouquet, hold it - and smile at me, do mercy ... And I still love, even if a hundred years have passed ... I haven’t learned to say goodbye ...