Иван Охлобыстин - Гроза - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

If you have never seen our thunderstorms, you will never understand us, the abilities of our crazy souls to fall to the very bottom of the abyss, where all the laws of the universe lose their original meaning. And with rapid take-off to prohibitive heights, where from ruby tails of burning comets, someone incomprehensibly great weaves the canvas of reality.

At first, the sun is affectionate, like a kiss of a baby. From time to time, sunlight begins to cover loose white clouds. Then there are more of them, they go astray in the company, until the next gust of wind finally forms them in huge pegia massifs. And they seem to lure from behind the horizon a stormy front of a stelly front steel.

Soon flickering steel covers the oblique curtains of heavy rains. With its approach, the thunderstorm begins to suck in sounds.

The first to disappear all the sounds of a person’s presence: the noise of automobile engines on the road, the hum of invisible airbuses, wiping through the clouds to the airports. Following them, the forest is silent and the field freezes.

A terrible, ash-yellow whirlpool, gradually turning around a spiral, around the still invisible center, is soundlessly seething over his head. A bird nearby cries in fright, a rusty weather vane creaks piercingly, as if opening the door for rare but huge drops of warm rain. And the rain will bring with it the smell of freshly conquered stone.

And then an unbearably long pause will come. The feeling of time appears only when you wait for something. Something most importantly, capable of changing all life once and for all. And at the moment, this is the main thing that arose for a moment, in the center of the chaos reigning at the top of the chaos, through which black bottomless cosmos and endlessly distant, pulsing different colors of the stars is visible.

The only thing you want at this moment for real is to tear your chest with your hands, to tear out an agonizing heart and stretch it out to meet the first lightning stroke with a wild, enthusiastic one.

You do not think about death, the fear of doubt is unknown to you. You fiercely want to become involved in the surrounding your greatness, to become part of this indescribable power, creating and destroying worlds. Forces erasing the line between obvious and imaginary. The forces manifested in the sweetish taste of birch juice and the flicker of sapphire, created from a drop of fat, venous blood. For a split second, for the duration of its fall to the cool marble of the steps of the temple. Forces combining the responsibility of personal choice with an impulsive impulse of an angry crowd. To become this force, sacrificing his uniqueness, throwing it into a fire of madness.

Everything else is not important. So not significant. So insulting is logical for a true understanding of oneself. No ... If you have never seen our thunderstorm, you will never look into our souls. After all, you want this so ... But you think: are you really ready for this?

Deus Vult!

© I. Okhlobystin.