Текст песни Вадим Егоров - Сказочная песня
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Белые дороги, белые дома - зима.
На дворе у нас стоят из снега терема.
Для детей они слетели с неба,
мы-то с вами знаем, что они из снега,
мы-то с вами не сошли с ума.
А у сказки краски как на витраже Леже.
Только не для нас: ведь мы на вираже уже.
Наши сказки серые от пыли,
потому что мы когда-то юны были,
а теперь не юные уже…
Сын прижал подушку щекой.
В его сон — невозмутимый покой
кувырком влетают Маленький Мук,
Баба Яга и змей Горыныч,
а за ним Синдбад, а потом
Маркиз Карабас в обнимку с Котом,
Ходжа Насреддин с ослом, а потом…
Право же, всех не перечислишь…
И, когда заката тлеет в небесах ожог,
около стола садимся мы в кружок, дружок,
смахивая пыль и паутину,
расстилаем скатерть-самобранку и на
ней уже вино и пирожок.
И, когда луны прожектор, в небесах горя,
освещает былый полушубок января,
в комнате, обыденной и тесной,
пахнет чертовщиною и сдобным тестом -
пахнет детством, проще говоря.
Луч рассветный брызнет сюда
и в него, как в дверь, уйдут без следа
Баратино, Гулливер, а за ним
маленький Принц и Мэри Поппинз,
а за ней Синдбад, а потом
Маркиз Карабас в обнимку с Котом,
Ходжа Насреддин с ослом, а потом…
Право же, всех не перечислишь…
Ах, когда мы были лопоухие щены,
все мы, как в купели, в сказке были крещены.
Та купель далека ли, близка ли -
как мы в той купели пели и плескались
и не знали этому цены.
Книжки пожелтели, сказки позабылись, но…
В Сказку никогда не поздно распахнуть окно -
только вы аршином мир не мерьте,
только вы поверьте, только вы поверьте
в то, во что не верите давно…
В то, что чудо рядом лежит
Ещё в то, что нам без чуда не жить
И тогда однажды вечером к вам
Карлсон слетит на подоконник,
а за ним Синдбад, а потом
Маркиз Карабас с Котом, а потом
Ходжа Насреддин с ослом, а потом…
Право же - всех не перечислишь.
White roads, white houses - winter.
In the yard we have a tower of snow.
For children they flew from the sky,
we know something with you that they are from the snow,
we have not gone mad with you.
And the fairy tale of paint as on the stained glass Leger.
Only not for us: after all we on a turn already.
Our fairy tales are gray with dust,
because we were once young,
and now not young already ...
His son pressed the pillow with his cheek.
In his sleep - an unperturbed peace
somersault fly Little Muck,
Baba Yaga and the snake Gorynych,
And after him Sinbad, and then
Marquis Carabas in an embrace with the Cat,
Khoja Nasreddin with the donkey, and then ...
Really, all you will not list ...
And when the sun burns down in the heavens,
near the table we sit in a circle, my friend,
brushing off dust and cobwebs,
spread out the tablecloth-samoboruku and on
she already has wine and a pie.
And, when the moon is a searchlight, in the heavens of sorrow,
illuminates the old sheepskin coat of January,
in a room, ordinary and close,
smells of devilry and buttery dough -
smells like childhood, simply put.
The ray of dawn splashes here
And into him, like at the door, they will leave without a trace
Baratino, Gulliver, and behind him
little Prince and Mary Poppins,
And after her Sinbad, and then
Marquis Carabas in an embrace with the Cat,
Khoja Nasreddin with the donkey, and then ...
Really, all you will not list ...
Ah, when we were lop-eared,
all of us, like in a font, were baptized in a fairy tale.
That font is far, is it close -
how we sang and splashed in that font
and did not know this price.
The books turned yellow, the stories were forgotten, but ...
In the Tale, it's never too late to open the window -
Only you do not measure the world with a yardstick,
only you believe, only you believe me
in what you do not believe for a long time ...
In the fact that a miracle lies side by side
Even in the fact that we can live without a miracle
And then one evening to you
Carlson will fly to the windowsill,
And after him Sinbad, and then
Marquis Carabas with the Cat, and then
Khoja Nasreddin with the donkey, and then ...
Really, you can not enumerate all of them.
In the yard we have a tower of snow.
For children they flew from the sky,
we know something with you that they are from the snow,
we have not gone mad with you.
And the fairy tale of paint as on the stained glass Leger.
Only not for us: after all we on a turn already.
Our fairy tales are gray with dust,
because we were once young,
and now not young already ...
His son pressed the pillow with his cheek.
In his sleep - an unperturbed peace
somersault fly Little Muck,
Baba Yaga and the snake Gorynych,
And after him Sinbad, and then
Marquis Carabas in an embrace with the Cat,
Khoja Nasreddin with the donkey, and then ...
Really, all you will not list ...
And when the sun burns down in the heavens,
near the table we sit in a circle, my friend,
brushing off dust and cobwebs,
spread out the tablecloth-samoboruku and on
she already has wine and a pie.
And, when the moon is a searchlight, in the heavens of sorrow,
illuminates the old sheepskin coat of January,
in a room, ordinary and close,
smells of devilry and buttery dough -
smells like childhood, simply put.
The ray of dawn splashes here
And into him, like at the door, they will leave without a trace
Baratino, Gulliver, and behind him
little Prince and Mary Poppins,
And after her Sinbad, and then
Marquis Carabas in an embrace with the Cat,
Khoja Nasreddin with the donkey, and then ...
Really, all you will not list ...
Ah, when we were lop-eared,
all of us, like in a font, were baptized in a fairy tale.
That font is far, is it close -
how we sang and splashed in that font
and did not know this price.
The books turned yellow, the stories were forgotten, but ...
In the Tale, it's never too late to open the window -
Only you do not measure the world with a yardstick,
only you believe, only you believe me
in what you do not believe for a long time ...
In the fact that a miracle lies side by side
Even in the fact that we can live without a miracle
And then one evening to you
Carlson will fly to the windowsill,
And after him Sinbad, and then
Marquis Carabas with the Cat, and then
Khoja Nasreddin with the donkey, and then ...
Really, you can not enumerate all of them.