Текст песни Геннадий Жуков - Речитатив о ночном выпасе

... Waking up, I said: Damned trams!
                                                (Gennady)

... The nights of the starless, molded hand rests on the sockets with an echoing bowl.
I will light a match - everything is easier, everything is better! - an identification torch of the erring ...

The black sky is dumber, lower. Lamb in red burns
trembling between the palm and the heart, like the deck of a dutar, then to the heart that is sore,
as if the sore wound, clings frantically, it will tremble and rush away.
And she calls, and she calls a haughty mist: where is my mother? Who is my mom?
Gone to the sunset flock. Night.

The night with a hollow bowl covered the sockets. Steppe spring has knocked my horse
on the grass of infused drunken blood - mare! Don't touch me, lamb ...
The shepherd is enough for me ... Do not touch me, quiet lamb! Do not touch.
Gone to the sunset flock. I lie in a thyme like a fragment of a centaur. Threw me a horse.

In general, a simple matter. Dropped how the head - the body. The burden to him is my head, the heavy burden.

I am the blind shepherd of this erring flock. Oh, take me, my clan -
tram tribe! I'm here from the city. I'm an outcast here.
Woe! Not like riding a wet horse — galloping,
on the run - I can't sit on the wild steppe!
Woe ... Wheels - worthy laurels! - and many summers wheeled on centaurs
on horses and poets. That's how we live. For eternity we live alone,
in vague kinship and vague wine.

My friend, brother, if the horse becomes unbearable, your horse will go away -
you will not find another horse. My friend, brother, if the flock sinks to the sunset -
you will sow the herd - you will reap the same night. Night - no shit! - meet back,
like a city in ruins. Everything is returned - in a circle, around the rim - everything!
And fate has a wheel. And the history of the wheel. Only freedom has four turned legs.
And love - and that - only wings in the burn.

Don't touch me, quiet lamb, don't touch.
The lamb is bright, fly away - there, beyond the abyss of the night, fire!
There is a magic circle on the hills -
There is babbling about seven languages.
There the shepherd, like the staff of the shepherds, is carried
From tube sypatoy sucks self-garden.
There pogasok in the palm squeezed ember -
So that I burned my heart with ash.
Tell them: I hear - the grass grows into my back.
Tell them: I know - I have no legs.
Tell them to give me back my precious half.
The horse to me is fearful, like a wing of inspiration! -
Horse to me. Poltela give for a horse!