Lyrics Михаил Щербаков - Август

August
Mikhail Shcherbakov

And again I'm leaving
From sorrows and cares.
People train off,
The train is about to begin.

I stand, I smoke sadly
In the melting of the railway station,
And fool me farewell
Predisennee warm.
A proud sort of bully
I see how passengers
Divide the world by raising above the world
Electronic scoreboard.

Persons, persons, persons, persons,
Whether really, whether it seems -
And the Georgian singer,
And the exhausted Volgary,
Who is sad, and who with a grin,
With suitcases and rush,
Past, past - the Germans with the Czech
And the company of the Bulgarians.

The ringing of train halftones,
Glare, hidden in the shadows.
The dim light from the cars
The lights are reflected.

And the bones of the beads flash,
Bundles of fish, glitter wraps,
That unshakable chin,
Those crazy eyes.
Ants are business,
Half asleep, deaf
People skip, and above them -
Cobble stone station.

Here and I, as a spy,
He was put to life by the oath.
I leave, guilty,
Since the inscription has lit to me.
And the porter in dirty form,
It seems to be drunk, but like in the norm,
So I rode the platform,
That the platform shook.

Sending, singing along
Felt on the bass,
And the farewell faded
In kisses and tears.

It remains for me to turn away,
To dismiss the farewell,
And depart and not return,
To die, having entered into the car.
Only suddenly - like a ghost
It seemed for a moment
And in the crowd made a confusion,
Going down onto the platform.

This woman is bad,
Unearthly and barefoot,
She came to me, flickering,
And I was shivered.
I lost gloss gloss
And I said evil and harshly:
"Hello, Muza-Vertikhvoska,
What good are you talking about?

Hands are bare, lips are compressed,
Looks hard to tear ...
Pass me by you,
Or do you want to delay?

Only this is not necessary,
Too long and not well.
I'm along the circumferential road
Rushed to where your face was,
With fancies I said goodbye,
Dwindled, cut back,
But almost did not fit
Within the narrow limits of the rush hour.

For you, I was a pirate,
A madam, a diplomat,
You teased plagiarism,
And I rushed in the shower,
He composed cascades of noise,
A hundred stories sang sulkily -
Only I did not invent them,
They were invented by Beaumarchais.

I threw myself to the stars,
But I dropped it from there ...
And now all that he created,
I almost buried it.

Muse, you see: tons of lines
On the way with a deviate slope
I'm in the funeral car
I send it with luggage.
So get rid of you, nahalka,
His hands with a hearse,
Do not you feel sorry for me,
That I'm cursed and ridiculous? .. "

Here the wheels moved -
They looked at me askance,
I did not finish the question,
Since the composition began to move ...
A little drove off, however,
I jumped into the abyss of darkness,
Also has returned, - and has begun to cry,
Sweet Muses can not find ...