The KISS - I was made for loving you - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

A gloomy stormy night at the end of the rainy months, darkness, hurricane and downpours.

The shore of the sacred Lion Island, black forests approaching the ocean itself, as if ready to flood them.

A great roar of waves, foamy, with luminous mountains inside, constantly coming to the island and flooding not only the coastal shallows, on which starfish lie in gelatinous circles, emitting a mysterious glow, and the rustling of thousands of spreading crabs, not only the coastal rocks, but also the foot of those palm trees that bent over, bending their thin trunks like a snake from the coastal cliffs.

A damp and warm hurricane sweeps from time to time with sheer swiftness, with unspeakable force, so majestic and powerful that a roar rolls violently from the forests towards the ocean, no less terrible and heavy than the roar of the ocean itself: then the palm trees, swaying from side to side, like living beings, tormented by a restless slumber, they suddenly bend low under the pressure of a storm rushing to the shore, they all fall down at once, and from their tops a myriad of dead leaves noisily fall, and in the air there is a whiff of spicy incense brought from the depths of the island, from the reserved depths of the forest .

Clouds, gloomy and heavy, as in the night of the Flood, descend lower and lower over the ocean. But in the boundless space between them and the watery abyss there is a certain semblance of light: the ocean is saturated to the hidden depths with the hidden flame of innumerable lives.

The waves of the ocean, with fiery boiling manes, running towards the shore in a roar and roar, flare up, before collapsing, so brightly that they illuminate with a green reflection a person standing in the forest above the shore.

This man is barefoot, with cropped hair, with his right shoulder exposed, wearing the rags of a hermit.

He is small, like a child, among the greatness surrounding him, and did not horror flash in his emaciated face at the brilliance and roar of the collapsed rampart?

Firmly and sonorously, overcoming both this roar and the combined roar of the forests and the hurricane, he proclaims:

- Glory to the Exalted, the Holy, the All-Enlightened, the Conquering of Desire!

A whirlwind rushes along with a hurricane, in the black forest darkness, myriads of seemingly fiery eyes. And the voice of a man standing on the shore sounds enthusiastically:

- In vain, Mara! In vain, Thousand-Eyed One, do you tempt, sweeping over the earth with life-giving hurricanes and downpours, the fat and now again fragrant decay of the graves, giving birth to new life from rot and dust! Back off, Mara! Like a raindrop from a tight lotus leaf, Desire rolls off me!

But victoriously, in a shower of falling leaves, a whirlwind of countless fiery eyes rushes, illuminating under a black forest canopy a sort of gigantic statue: sitting on the ground, its head rising to the very tops of the palm trees. His legs are crossed.

From neck to loins he is entwined with the gray rings of a serpent, which has swollen its pink throat and stretched its flat, cross-eyed head over his head.

Despite the immeasurable weight of the snake's coils, the one sitting is free and stately, majestic and straight.

A divine growth, a sharp bump on the crown of his head. Black-blue, curly, but short hair - like the blue in the tail of a peacock. The red face is royally calm. The look is brilliant, like a gem.

And his terrible voice, a voice that sounds without tension, similar in strength to thunder, rolls majestically from the depths of the forests to a man standing on the shore:

“Truly, truly, I tell you, disciple: again and again you will renounce me for the sake of Mara, for the sake of the sweet deception of mortal life, on this night of earthly spring.”

Paris. 1921