Текст песни Ольга Горпенко - Подайте больному на морфий

Near the church on the porch of mournful
The ragged beggar sits.
"Give the sick man some morphine!" -
A plaque hangs around his neck.
Hurrying to matins early,
And I went there more than once,
And what was in your pockets
Bashfully gave the sufferer.

The pious parish spat
At the sight of his blasphemy.
And he, shielding himself involuntarily,
Couldn't explain anything:
Why is he a stubborn freak
sat on our way?
Opium is here for the people
Consider it almost free.

May God grant you, who do not know a miracle,
Don't break out of your prison,
Because when looking from there
Your spring is bitter than winter.
Oh, if only those who play
Lives and chews on the go
Find out that after returning from paradise,
You can't get used to hell.

It was only recently
The head is wise from happiness.
And thoughts are again not about the main thing,
Scattered like islands.
Like an ineffable word
The pinnacle of everything and the crown -
Swing up to the sky of the seventh
The Creator provided the blind.

Where does the swing take us?
How often does nature lie to us?
And do chasms really divide
The Creator and His Creation?
I'm on my knees, but it's too late
The light of the altar is silent.
Oh God, why did you create us?
Are you really alone?

And next to the cemetery is crooked
whitish stones stand.
Leaning sad nettles
over the arrows of the rusty fences.
"Anamnesis vitae et morbi" -
The whispers echoes the foliage.
Serve the patient for morphine.
Sorry for these words!