Текст песни Дымовая Завеса - Я просто чем-то болен..стр 80
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В одной из прочитанной старой книжке,
У той что страницы на ладане дышат,
В переплете затертом, старом, кожанном,
Где была описанна истина (может быть..)
Та, что в детстве не раз перечитана,
Верил я - страна есть, что в ней описана,
Город, золотые врата я представлял мысленно,
Райских птиц, красою неистовой..
Который день маялся в поисках входа
В мир тот загадочный, планы строил,
-Где же он?!- не раз я кричал в пустоту...
Потом снова на полу... слушал тишину...
А в тот день самый уже утро было,
Уставшая ночь на свой покой уходила,
Я голос услышал.. кого-то свыше,
Всё буд-то бы замерло, всё тише и тише.
Голос говорил - я покажу что ты ищешь,
Путь в ту страну, о которой в книгах пишут,
Иди со мной но знай, дорога нелегка,
Нам с ветром по пути через леса и облака.
Помолился, собрался я в свой последний путь,
Спросил могу ли попрощаться хоть с кем-нибудь,
Родную мать обнять, ведь больше не увидимся,
Затем ступить туда.. в мечты, что снились мне.
Вдруг темнота такая, что не видел раньше,
Затем свет яркий, что ослепил глаза мне даже,
Хрустальный град увидел, златые врата,
Вот оно - то место, о чем мечтал когда-то..
( Я просто чем-то болен, но не более..
Все мы чем-то больны, каждый по-своему..
По-своему пытаемся справиться с этой болью
Боремся с собой каждый по своему )
Когда от человека остается только имя,
Вероятно проще взять и выкопать себе могилу,
Как миллионы тел я не хотел быть просто первым,
Воображенье подарило мне совсем другую веру.
Я был другим и ненавидел мир себе подобных,
Так любящих себя от колыбели и до гроба,
Мало места среди вас, считающих меня уродом,
Шторами завесил окна, замки на затворы.
Темно и холодно, по полу пыль слоем ровным,
Плотная.. из крана капают капли мокрые,
Намотана снаружи проводка, провода и кнопки,
Отсутствие тока - здесь видимо выбило пробки.
Вечерами убиваю время не у телевизора,
А в погоне за мечтой, той, что слепит искрами,
Жгет мысли, быстро, пламенем неистовым,
С ума сводит прикосновением единственным.
Ночью слышу то, о чем читал в книжках,
И Он зовет меня туда где я бы не был лишним..
Если он действительно знает, и это правда,
Тогда стоит рискнуть.. но я не видел его карты.
-Покажи мне дорогу в Апреле.. В первых числах.. -
Безумие, новый выстрел, снова приступ,
Весна без сна, но уже засветло,
Красками режет свет глаза красные.
Бритва опасная, или в аптеке пара пачек "лекарства",
Укажет в ту сказку точный адрес.
Потом свет, бинты, снова бинты, вата..
И вместо Ангелов - врачи в белых халатах.
( Я просто чем-то болен, но не более..
Все мы чем-то больны, каждый по-своему..
По-своему пытаемся справиться с этой болью
Боремся с собой каждый по своему )
Я видел всё больше и больше,
То блестящее и живое, что мешало мне смотреть,
Перестало блестеть и дышать,
Поверхность высохла и стала сжиматься,
Открывая мне возможность видеть вокруг,
Неужели я один ? Я зацепился взглядом за очень знакомое,
-Это листок какой то книги, я попытался всмотреться,
Но разглядел только номер страницы - номер 80...
( Я просто чем-то болен, но не более..
Все мы чем-то больны, каждый по-своему..
По-своему пытаемся справиться с этой болью
Боремся с собой каждый по своему )
In one of the old books read,
At the fact that the pages on the frankincense breathe,
The binding is wiped, old, leather,
Where the truth was described (maybe ..)
The one that, as a child, has been re-read many times,
I believed that there is a country that is described in it,
The city, I imagined the golden gates mentally,
Birds of Paradise, the beauty of the wild ..
Which day was lurking in search of the entrance
In the world that mysterious, I built plans,
-How much is he?! - More than once I cried into the void ...
Then again on the floor ... listening to the silence ...
And that day it was already morning,
Tired night for my peace left,
I heard a voice .. someone from above,
All buds would have stopped, all quieter and quieter.
The voice said - I'll show you what you're looking for,
The way to that country, which is written about in books,
Go with me but know, the road is not easy,
We with the wind on the way through forests and clouds.
Prayed, I gathered in my last journey,
I asked if I could say goodbye to anyone,
A native mother hugs, because we will not see each other again,
Then step there .. into the dreams that I dreamed of.
Suddenly, the darkness is such that I have not seen it before,
Then the light is bright, that blinded my eyes even,
The crystal hail saw, the golden gate,
Here it is - the place that I once dreamed of ..
(I'm just sick, but no more ..
We are all sick, each in his own way ..
In our own way we try to cope with this pain
We struggle with each other in its own way)
When only a name remains from a person,
It's probably easier to grab a grave for yourself,
As millions of bodies I did not want to be just the first,
Imagination gave me a completely different faith.
I was different and I hated the world of my kind,
So those who love themselves from the cradle to the grave,
There are few places among you who consider me a freak,
Curtains curtained windows, locks on the gates.
It is dark and cold, the dust on the floor is even,
Dense .. from the tap dripping droplets wet,
Wires are wound on the outside, wires and buttons,
The absence of current - here apparently knocked out traffic jams.
In the evenings I do not kill time with the TV,
And in pursuit of a dream, one that blinds with sparks,
He burns his thoughts, quickly, with a fierce flame,
From the mind with the touch of the only one.
At night I hear what I read about in books,
And He calls me to where I would not be superfluous ..
If he really knows, and it's true,
Then it's worth taking a chance .. but I did not see his card.
-Please tell me the way in April .. In the first days .. -
Madness, a new shot, another attack,
Spring without sleep, but already before dark,
Paints cut light red eyes.
A razor is dangerous, or in a drugstore a couple of packs of "medicine",
Tells the exact address in that tale.
Then light, bandages, bandages again, cotton wool ..
And instead of Angels - doctors in white coats.
(I'm just sick, but no more ..
We are all sick, each in his own way ..
In our own way we try to cope with this pain
We struggle with each other in its own way)
I saw more and more,
That brilliant and lively that prevented me from looking,
It ceased to shine and breathe,
The surface dried up and began to shrink,
Opening to me the opportunity to see around,
Am I alone? I caught a glimpse of a very familiar,
-This is a leaf of some book, I tried to peer,
But I saw only the page number - number 80 ...
(I'm just sick, but no more ..
We are all sick, each in his own way ..
In our own way we try to cope with this pain
We struggle with each other in its own way)
At the fact that the pages on the frankincense breathe,
The binding is wiped, old, leather,
Where the truth was described (maybe ..)
The one that, as a child, has been re-read many times,
I believed that there is a country that is described in it,
The city, I imagined the golden gates mentally,
Birds of Paradise, the beauty of the wild ..
Which day was lurking in search of the entrance
In the world that mysterious, I built plans,
-How much is he?! - More than once I cried into the void ...
Then again on the floor ... listening to the silence ...
And that day it was already morning,
Tired night for my peace left,
I heard a voice .. someone from above,
All buds would have stopped, all quieter and quieter.
The voice said - I'll show you what you're looking for,
The way to that country, which is written about in books,
Go with me but know, the road is not easy,
We with the wind on the way through forests and clouds.
Prayed, I gathered in my last journey,
I asked if I could say goodbye to anyone,
A native mother hugs, because we will not see each other again,
Then step there .. into the dreams that I dreamed of.
Suddenly, the darkness is such that I have not seen it before,
Then the light is bright, that blinded my eyes even,
The crystal hail saw, the golden gate,
Here it is - the place that I once dreamed of ..
(I'm just sick, but no more ..
We are all sick, each in his own way ..
In our own way we try to cope with this pain
We struggle with each other in its own way)
When only a name remains from a person,
It's probably easier to grab a grave for yourself,
As millions of bodies I did not want to be just the first,
Imagination gave me a completely different faith.
I was different and I hated the world of my kind,
So those who love themselves from the cradle to the grave,
There are few places among you who consider me a freak,
Curtains curtained windows, locks on the gates.
It is dark and cold, the dust on the floor is even,
Dense .. from the tap dripping droplets wet,
Wires are wound on the outside, wires and buttons,
The absence of current - here apparently knocked out traffic jams.
In the evenings I do not kill time with the TV,
And in pursuit of a dream, one that blinds with sparks,
He burns his thoughts, quickly, with a fierce flame,
From the mind with the touch of the only one.
At night I hear what I read about in books,
And He calls me to where I would not be superfluous ..
If he really knows, and it's true,
Then it's worth taking a chance .. but I did not see his card.
-Please tell me the way in April .. In the first days .. -
Madness, a new shot, another attack,
Spring without sleep, but already before dark,
Paints cut light red eyes.
A razor is dangerous, or in a drugstore a couple of packs of "medicine",
Tells the exact address in that tale.
Then light, bandages, bandages again, cotton wool ..
And instead of Angels - doctors in white coats.
(I'm just sick, but no more ..
We are all sick, each in his own way ..
In our own way we try to cope with this pain
We struggle with each other in its own way)
I saw more and more,
That brilliant and lively that prevented me from looking,
It ceased to shine and breathe,
The surface dried up and began to shrink,
Opening to me the opportunity to see around,
Am I alone? I caught a glimpse of a very familiar,
-This is a leaf of some book, I tried to peer,
But I saw only the page number - number 80 ...
(I'm just sick, but no more ..
We are all sick, each in his own way ..
In our own way we try to cope with this pain
We struggle with each other in its own way)