Гоголь - Мертвые души - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

And what kind of Russian does not like fast driving? Whether it is a soul, striving to spin, to walk, sometimes to say: "Damn everything!" “Is it not to love her to love her?” Should I not love her when something enthusiastically-art is heard in her? It seems that unknown power grabbed you on the wing to you, and you fly and everything flies: the miles fly, the merchants fly towards the irradies of their wagons, the forests with the dark ranks of fir and pines, with an cloth and a brown cry, flies on both sides, flies The whole road is nave where in the missing distance, and something terrible is enclosed in this fast Melkanya, where the disappeared object does not have time to mean - only the sky above the head, and light clouds, and a widening month, one seem motionless. Eh, three! Bird Troika, who invented you? To know, you could only be born in the brisk people, in that land that I do not like to joke, and smoothly smolled at half a might, and go count the miles until it charges you in your eyes. And not cunning, it seems, the road shell, not with iron, is seized by a screw, but hastily alive, with one ax and a chisel, a Yaroslavl, a quick man, gathered and gathered you. Not in German boots, a coachman: a beard and a mitten, and sits the devil knows what; And he got up, but he swung, but he tightened the song - the horses with a whirlwind, the knitting needles in the wheels mixed into one smooth circle, only the road fluttered, and the stopped pedestrian cried out in the fright - and she rushed, rushed, rushed! How something is dusting and drilling air.

Excerpt No. 2

Is it not so you, Rus' that the brisk non -accurate three are rushing? Smoke smokes under you road, the bridges rattles, everything is lagging behind and remains behind. The contemplator struck by God's miracle stopped: is it not lightning, dropped from the sky? What does it mean that is a terrifying movement? And what kind of unknown force is contained in these horses unknown by light? Eh, horses, horses, what kind of horses! Are they sitting in your mane? Is the ear sensitive in all your veins? They heard a familiar song from the embroidery, together and at once strained copper breasts and, almost without touching the hoofs of the earth, turned into some elongated lines flying through the air, and rushing, all inspired by God! .. Where are you rushing, give me an answer? Does not give an answer. A bell is poured with a wonderful ringing; thunders and becomes the wind torn into pieces of air; Everything that is on Earth flies past, and squinting, staring and give her way other peoples and states.