Текст песни Владимир Шандриков - Вот я и снова стою на пороге...

Here I am again on the threshold,
Knit mat I trample,
The right door from the wrong road
Nervously, like a woodpecker, I knock.

Old curtains of old work,
The same geranium on the window,
And yellowed old photos
Just hang on the wall.

"Hello, Maman!", And on the floor of knitting
A gray tangle is falling.
My neck watered with tears:
"Lord, are you, son? ..

I already looked through the window,
Everything has measured dreams
And turned gray, as you can see, a little bit
Since that spring before last. "

In proud embarrassment she showed me
Mike, that used to be.
And smiling, through tears, she said:
"You see, I keep it, son ..."

All this time it did not wash,
The smell of all your treasured.
How to get bored, get it, happen ...
You look, depression melted away.

Why do not you eat? Or prepared simply?
I see - you are tired, fall asleep. "
The white-and-white sheet is stretched,
Light will be dreams.

I will dream of white groves,
Black birds fly,
Our mothers will always be easier
And better to look at life.

It's clear that this is their destiny,
So that does not happen - always
They will meet, feed, bed for their son,
And they do not sleep until morning.

Birds lulled the silver frost,
White song of birches.
Dreams always give us fluff poplar
Old abandoned nests.

Vl. Shandrikov