Текст песни Сегодня в Мире - Удаленный доступ 2

It was summer morning, and dad was going to work. And I was sitting next to me on a stool, watching how the sun appears from behind the roof of a neighboring house, how an old tulle curtain sways, and how dad is going to work.

Dad takes a half-liter jar and puts it on the table. Then he opens the fridge and takes out a “pressure cooker” with soup or cabbage soup. He takes a ladle, scoops up the contents of the pan, and shifts it to the jar. Then again. Closes the jar with a shabby plastic lid and puts it in the bag. From the rattling aluminum breadbasket he takes out bread and cuts off two thick pieces. Then he takes the old "Soviet Sport" and tears off half a page. Wraps the bread in it and puts it in a bag. From the remaining half of the page tears off another half, takes a sugar bowl, takes a teaspoon and pours two spoons of sugar on a newspaper; not wrapping up the sugar until the end, pours another half spoonful of tea and then finally and tightly wraps the bag and puts it in the bag.

There were further variations. It could have been a boiled egg, or a fresh cucumber, or a tomato, or a potato. I already knew that dad soup at work warms up - he has a bowl there. And he has a spoon there too. He will boil tea and brew in a glass. He eats a potato or tomato like that. I was very jealous of him. I imagined how he, with the same careful, ritual movements, took everything from the bag, unwrapped it, laid it out. All this seemed to me incredibly beautiful ...
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Interestingly, in childhood, perhaps because of the small growth, all subjects in the surrounding world seemed much closer and were studied much more closely. Cracks in the asphalt, grass, plantain, curved curb, ants, candy wrapper, fire beetle, worm, green glass fragment. Well, who of the adults is looking at it? And because we are therefore the coins, and sometimes paper money found that we looked closely. Adults do not look so carefully. They learned to walk without even looking at their feet. For them there is nothing interesting. This is the world of childhood. And the cracks on the pavement, and grass, and curved curb, and small coins, and large bills belong to children.

And we children were happy in this world. The truth has not yet known this, because happiness is only in the eighth grade, it seems. And we aspired to the world of adults, because we thought that everything was much more interesting there. There are answers to questions, there is a difficult job, there is their own, and the money earned is no longer found under their feet. There, for us, absolute freedom and absolute happiness lurked, about which everything is already known precisely after the eighth grade ...