Текст песни Crys-T - Сильные люди
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Гляди.. вон на той стороне дороги.
старуха Ноги едва передвигает,
и вроде, сама уже давно на пороге,
Но что-то держит ее... не отпускает.
С виду слабая, такая старая,
Плечи сутулые, вечно усталая.
Дряхлое Пальто, выцветшая шапка
По асфальту подошвы шагами шаркают...
Холодно ли, жарко ли, по улицам шумным
В глазах слезы и тяжкие думы.
Куда-то суму нелегкие тащит,
Остановится, вздохнет и шагает дальше.
Вспомни, Ты и раньше видал ее часто
Но будто бы не замечал, когда встречался.
Да м живет где-то тут она по-соседству.
И ходит осколько помнишь себя - с самого детства...
А дома у нее сын, прикованный к кровати,
Он у нее один, и у него, кроме матери
Нет никого и не будет впредь.
Ей нельзя стать слабой или умереть.
Я знаю людей сильных, готовых биться
Один против мира. И дело тут не в биципсах.
Не ради принципов, денег или славы,
Просто им и на день, нельзя стать слабыми.
В переходе метро, с кружкой жестяной.
Старик седой, прижавшись спиной к стене.
Стоит, Рукой трет пряжку со звездой
На кожаном растрескавшемся ремне.
Непрерывным потоком текут люди,
Кто-то бросит банкноту, кто-то осудит.
Пристыдит, скорчит недовольную мину.
А старик стоит и молча смотрит мимо.
Гардероб его давно не видал обновок.
Зато осанка все еще как у молодого.
И время никогда не согнет спину,
Одного из солдат, дошедших до Берлина.
У людей заботы, у людей веселье,
А старик пропадет на субботу-воскресенье.
Но вернется, как на пост спустя два дня,
И снова эхом монеты зазвенят.
Все ушли, а его тут будто держат цепи.
В субботу на кладбище, в воскресенье в церкви.
Ставит свечи, вспоминает годы.
И тихо молится за нас - идущих по переходу.
Я знаю людей сильных, готовых биться
Один против мира. И дело тут не в биципсах.
Не ради принципов, денег или славы,
Просто им и на день, нельзя стать слабыми.
Look ... over there on the other side of the road.
the old woman barely moves her legs,
and it seems that she herself has long been on the doorstep,
But something is holding her ... not letting go.
She looks weak, so old
Slouching shoulders, always tired.
Decrepit Coat, Faded Hat
On the asphalt, the soles shuffle with steps ...
Is it cold or hot, through the noisy streets
There are tears in my eyes and heavy thoughts.
Somewhere a bag is not easy drags,
He stops, sighs and walks on.
Remember, you've seen her often before
But he didn't seem to notice when he met.
Yes, she lives somewhere here in the neighborhood.
And walking for as long as you remember yourself - from childhood ...
And at home she has a son chained to the bed,
He has only one, and he, besides his mother
There is no one and will not be in the future.
She cannot become weak or die.
I know people who are strong, ready to fight
One against the world. And it's not about the bicips.
Not for principles, money or fame
It's just that they cannot become weak for a day.
In the subway passage, with a tin mug.
The old gray-haired man, his back against the wall.
Stands, Hand rubs the buckle with a star
On a cracked leather belt.
People flow in a continuous stream
Someone will throw a banknote, someone will condemn.
Shame, screams a displeased face.
And the old man stands and silently looks past.
His wardrobe had not seen new clothes for a long time.
But the posture is still like a young man.
And time will never bend your back
One of the soldiers who made it to Berlin.
People have cares, people have fun,
And the old man will disappear on Saturday and Sunday.
But he will return, as if on a post two days later,
And again the coins will echo.
Everyone is gone, and it is as if the chains are holding him here.
Saturday at the cemetery, Sunday at the church.
Lits candles, remembers the years.
And quietly prays for us - walking along the passage.
I know people who are strong, ready to fight
One against the world. And it's not about the bicips.
Not for principles, money or fame
It's just that they cannot become weak for a day.
the old woman barely moves her legs,
and it seems that she herself has long been on the doorstep,
But something is holding her ... not letting go.
She looks weak, so old
Slouching shoulders, always tired.
Decrepit Coat, Faded Hat
On the asphalt, the soles shuffle with steps ...
Is it cold or hot, through the noisy streets
There are tears in my eyes and heavy thoughts.
Somewhere a bag is not easy drags,
He stops, sighs and walks on.
Remember, you've seen her often before
But he didn't seem to notice when he met.
Yes, she lives somewhere here in the neighborhood.
And walking for as long as you remember yourself - from childhood ...
And at home she has a son chained to the bed,
He has only one, and he, besides his mother
There is no one and will not be in the future.
She cannot become weak or die.
I know people who are strong, ready to fight
One against the world. And it's not about the bicips.
Not for principles, money or fame
It's just that they cannot become weak for a day.
In the subway passage, with a tin mug.
The old gray-haired man, his back against the wall.
Stands, Hand rubs the buckle with a star
On a cracked leather belt.
People flow in a continuous stream
Someone will throw a banknote, someone will condemn.
Shame, screams a displeased face.
And the old man stands and silently looks past.
His wardrobe had not seen new clothes for a long time.
But the posture is still like a young man.
And time will never bend your back
One of the soldiers who made it to Berlin.
People have cares, people have fun,
And the old man will disappear on Saturday and Sunday.
But he will return, as if on a post two days later,
And again the coins will echo.
Everyone is gone, and it is as if the chains are holding him here.
Saturday at the cemetery, Sunday at the church.
Lits candles, remembers the years.
And quietly prays for us - walking along the passage.
I know people who are strong, ready to fight
One against the world. And it's not about the bicips.
Not for principles, money or fame
It's just that they cannot become weak for a day.