Текст песни Александр Галич - Опыт ностальгии

..When they crossed the Neva, Pushkin
 jokingly asked:
 “Aren't you taking me to the fortress?”
 “No,” answered Danzas, “simply through
 Black River Fortress is the closest
 road!
 Recorded by V.A. Zhukovsky from the words
 second of Pushkin - Danzas

 ... That was last February
 Every now and then
 A candle burned on the table ...
 B. Pasternak

 ... Murka, don’t go, there is an owl,
 Embroidered on a pillow!
 A. Akhmatova

I have no regrets, nothing, no regrets
Not a border over my heart is not free, not a year!
So why did I suddenly fool around at the mere thought
That never, never ...
Oh my god never! ..

Wait, calm down, think -
And what - never ?!
Latitude of polar snowstorms,
Tarkhany, Vladimir, Irpen -
How much we have not seen
Isn't it too late to execute now ?!

We are powerless every moment
Though our fault is not fault
Over block-panel Russia
Like a camp number, the moon.
Regional committees, city committees, district committees,
In the smudges of snows and rains.
In their windows like a thorn of tarhoma
(They haven’t known anyone for a long time)
Faceless faces of leaders.

In their enamels smoked - wolves
They kick people like dogs
And after those same wolves
Sit in the black Volga
Smoke Virginia tobacco.

And cottages state ocher
Shelter the luminaries
And there will be a face
Make sure no one watches.

And in the bathhouse, heated hot
A shaggy chud will dance ...
Are you sorry for this?
Not a bit sorry, not at all!

I don’t remember, I swear, I don’t remember in the first years, either
Sevastopol coast,
Almost unprecedented reality.
And a mysterious descent into the Chersonesus quarry,
And on the children's sailor suit -
Hellas is a song dust.

I don’t remember, I swear!
Well, what do I remember?
And what do I remember?
Grin
On a smooth official face
My clumsy rush
And pathetic rage at the end.

I don’t believe in sadness over birch trees,
Do not measure separation by tears.
And is this loss necessary
Attribute to loss account?

Like a stone forest, numb
We are on the line
Where is the body - as if not a body,
Where the word is not only not the case,
But not even a word already.

Generations walk past us
Pass and wave their hand.
Contempt, contempt, contempt,
Given to us like new eyesight
And a pass to the coming peace!

What about horses?
Winged horses
What are torn from the granite ends,
Robber whistle chase
Toy bells ringing ?!

What about Christmas time?
And a strand of a cushion,
What hot falls on the chest?
Are you sorry for this?
Not really...
But by the way - a little bit!

But the February candle is melting
But owls sleep on a pillow
But there is also the Black River,
But there is also the Black River,
But - there is - still - the Black River ...
This is not necessary!
Be silent!