Lyrics Мария Малиновская - На погосте живых
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Наблюдать, как родного кого-то…
Мне не верится, кто там, на фото…
Измождённый,
в какой-то дерюге,
смотришь пусто и шало.
А когда-то я руки,
руки твои
держала…
На погосте живых
тяжелее стократ:
кличем их,
слышат мёртвые - эти не слышат.
Крест на плечи - и молча стоят…
На погосте живых
тишина,
сколько этих крестов ни руби мы.
Что я делать, что делать должна? -
На погосте живых
мой любимый…
Я пришла, ты не видишь, я здесь?!
Видят мёртвые - эти не видят.
Между нами туманная взвесь…
Над чернеющим дёрном,
весь в чёрном,
и в моей безысходности весь,
держишь крест,
смотришь пусто и шало.
А когда-то,
не верится,
руки твои…
я держала их, Боже, держала!
Сколько взгляда хватает - ряды
так же молча стоящих,
и чёрные
по земле их обходят кроты,
в этих чащах
дозорные…
Воронов нет.
Не притронутся к падали духа.
Только дух здесь и падает глухо,
Глуше высохших мёртвых планет…
Посадить бы сосну,
под сосной
будет вскопанный дёрн да скамья.
Всё тебе помилее, чем я.
Оживёшь -
посиди там… со мной.
Observe how someone's dear ...
I can't believe who is there in the photo ...
Exhausted
in some kind of sackcloth,
you look empty and shalo.
And once I’m hands
your hands
kept ...
On the graveyard of the living
heavier a hundred times:
we call them,
the dead hear - these do not.
Cross on shoulders - and stand in silence ...
On the graveyard of the living
silence,
how many of these crosses we cut.
What should I do, what should I do? -
On the graveyard of the living
my favorite…
I came, can't you see, I'm here ?!
The dead see - these do not see.
There is a misty suspension between us ...
Over the blackening sod
all in black
and in my despair all,
holding the cross
you look empty and shalo.
And once,
I can't believe
your hands ...
I held them, God, I held them!
How many eyes are enough - rows
standing just as silently
and black
moles walk around them on the ground,
in these thickets
sentinels ...
There are no crows.
Will not touch the discouragement.
Only the spirit here and falls deafly,
Deeper than the dried up dead planets ...
Plant a pine tree
under the pine
there will be a dug up sod and a bench.
Everything is dearer to you than me.
You will revive -
sit there ... with me.
I can't believe who is there in the photo ...
Exhausted
in some kind of sackcloth,
you look empty and shalo.
And once I’m hands
your hands
kept ...
On the graveyard of the living
heavier a hundred times:
we call them,
the dead hear - these do not.
Cross on shoulders - and stand in silence ...
On the graveyard of the living
silence,
how many of these crosses we cut.
What should I do, what should I do? -
On the graveyard of the living
my favorite…
I came, can't you see, I'm here ?!
The dead see - these do not see.
There is a misty suspension between us ...
Over the blackening sod
all in black
and in my despair all,
holding the cross
you look empty and shalo.
And once,
I can't believe
your hands ...
I held them, God, I held them!
How many eyes are enough - rows
standing just as silently
and black
moles walk around them on the ground,
in these thickets
sentinels ...
There are no crows.
Will not touch the discouragement.
Only the spirit here and falls deafly,
Deeper than the dried up dead planets ...
Plant a pine tree
under the pine
there will be a dug up sod and a bench.
Everything is dearer to you than me.
You will revive -
sit there ... with me.