Текст песни Алекша Нович - Мессия

You probably don’t remember me
Gone, it seems, millennia.
I wonder at the electronics in this room,
Yes, I was not in debt in this world.
And all these tools, and the current running in the microphone
It does not remind me of that planet, of my home.
With walls smeared in clay, without gas heating,
Without an Internet, television, and even radio base.
Yes, I haven't seen it all, in your eyes I'm probably wild,
But wait, nevertheless, on these icons, isn't it my face?
But on this my mother, by the way, had not seen her for a long time.
I love her very much. I hope I didn't hurt her much
When at seventeen, hijacked from Galilee for traveling.
Yes, in my youth, I often took part in such mutku.
But on this one I have with my older brother John,
I kind of pray, and he pours water on my head Jordan.
Yes, many things that were strange for these thirty-three years,
But wait, ka, nevertheless, what is this concrete building?
In which all these icons weigh, and the fire of fire sacrifices,
Where everything is so strict, expensive, and does not even smell windy.
How how? Temple for prayer? A place where you have to ask for forgiveness?
But I do not remember something, I asked for forgiveness in such a room
I prayed in the mountains, forests, sometimes at home on the doorstep.
No, no, I'm not whine, just a little surprised.
So for My Father sake, pray where you want,
You want to go to your temples, home, but at least go to McDuck.
I remember that trauma is dangerous in the politics of spirituality,
Therefore, I am not going to gather my flock again. Clear?
The second time, I certainly will not fall for this chip,
Sorry, but there is still breath from the wound under the right edge.
I actually came to talk with you about another matter,
Do you remember my second antecedent, did you sing in your prayers?
Well, in general, as you wanted,
I am again among you, in this physical body.
 
No, no, I'm not crying this wind in my eyes,
He makes men think differently.
No, no, blood does not mean on my palms,
That you should pray for my every verse.

I go to my church and do not find my knowledge
And I do not understand why the fact of my circumcision is so important here.
And the image of my kiss and talmuda listening
Replaced my teaching on the salvation of souls, ye.
And where is my mountain sermon? I did not understand something.
Do you even know how many nights in a row I cooked it?
Either you lured me, or I was mistaken in the door
But why is your cult erected around my suffering and pain?
And so much salt with water was spilled on the people,
Some left prayers, only how much is invented.
I take the Gospel, or rather what is preserved from it,
I find the moment where my community prayed.
Well, it is written in black and white, the true word,
But I only feel someone's stern look with reproach.
An old woman comes up to me, say, "You're not praying like that
You are not standing there, you do not swear so much, you are angry with God now. ”
Come forth Satan! I said to the one who stood behind her spirit,
But from the battle he heard in response, my ears curled up tight.
And in general, with the noise and scandal from this house of the Pharisees
Kicked out my appearance in this physical body.
And here I am sitting in a park with a guitar on a bench,
And passersby by people throw money at my food.
And the bodies of my crippled earthly pains,
Do not compare with the pain in my heart, about your lost will.

No, no, I'm not crying this wind in my eyes,
He makes men think differently.
No, no, blood does not mean on my palms,
That you should pray for my every verse.