Текст песни Владимир Владимирович Маяковский - Сергею Есенину

You've gone,
        as the saying goes,
                      in a different world.
Emptiness...
          Fly,
                 in the stars slamming.
Neither do you advance,
               nor the pub.
Sobriety.
No, Yesenin,
            this
               not a mockery.
In the throat
       woe is lumpy -
                   do not laugh.
I see -
       with a hand cut off,
own
           bones
                 swing the bag.
 "Stop it!"
              Drop it!
                      Are you in your right mind?
Give,
     so that the cheeks
              flooded
                     deadly chalk ?!
You are
    is
         bend knew how,
that another
          in the world
                  did not know how.
Why?
       What for?
             The confusion crumpled.
Critics mutter:
                  - This wine
then ...
      Yes, se ...
              and most importantly,
                        that the bows are small,
as a result of
            a lot of beer and wine.
They say,
        replace you
                       bohemian
                             class,
class influenced you,
                   and it was not until fights.
Well, the class
              thirsty
                   pours kvass?
Class - he, too
                 to drink is not a fool.
They say,
        to you would put
                           whom of the outposts -
steel b
       content
                  very gifted.
You would
      in a day
            wrote
                  rows of one hundred,
tiresome
           and long,
                    as Doronin.
And in my opinion,
            be realized
                       such nonsense,
on yourself
          earlier they laid their hands on it.
It's better
        from vodka to die,
than from boredom!
Will not open
           us
               causes of loss
nor a noose,
         neither a penknife.
Can,
      turn out to be
             ink in the Angleterre,
veins
    cut
          there were no reasons.
Imitators were delighted:
                         bis!
Above oneself
         almost a platoon
                      violence committed.
Why
         increase
                    number of suicides?
Better
     increase
            ink production!
Forever
        Now
              language
                  in the teeth it will shut.
Heavy
      and inappropriate
                 to build mysteries.
The people,
         from a linguist,
has died
    voiced
           zabuldyga journeyman.
And bear
       poems for the funeral scrap,
from past
         from the funeral
                  not altered almost.
In the hill
      stupid rhymes
                 drive a stake -
Is it so
         the poet
              should I honor?
You
   and the monument is not yet merged, -
where is he,
       bronze ringing,
                   or a granite face?
but to the gratings
                   already
                      have brought
initiations
          and memories of rubbish.
Your name
        in handkerchiefs scattered,
your word
          slobbering Sobinov
and outputs
         under the birch dead -
"Not a word,
          about the other,
                        nor sneak-about-about-ha "
Eh,
   to talk otherwise
with this
            with Leonid Lohengrinich!
Would rise here
               rattling brawler:
- I will not let it
             mumble a verse
                         and crumple! -
Stunned
           their
             three-toed whistle
in the grandmother's
         and in God the soul of a mother!
To spread
                dishonorable trash,
inflating
        darkness
            jacket sails,
that
     in bulk
               fled Kogan,
met
           mutilating
                whisker peaks.
Rubbish
     for now
             little thinner.
There are many cases -
             just keep up.
It is necessary
    a life
         first remake,
having altered -
            you can chant.
This time -
            difficult for the pen,
but tell me
          you,
             cripples and kaleksh,
Where,
    when,
          which great chose
way,
     so as to be beaten
                       and easier?
Word -
        commander
                  of human power.
March!
     To the time
               back
                     nucleus was torn.
To the old days
              windy
                         attributed
only
      confusion of hair.

For fun
           our planet
                       little equipped.
It is necessary
    wrest
           joy
                  in the days to come.
In this life
            die
                    not difficult.
Make a living
             much more difficult.