Lyrics отец Геннадий. Странник 4 - 5 Мой портрет
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The lyrics of the song are provided for your reference отец Геннадий. Странник 4 - 5 Мой портрет, and also a translation of a song with a video or clip.
Безобразный-безобразный мой портрет,
Я писал его в течение многих лет.
Неумелые накладывал мазки,
Надо мною хохотали чудаки.
Я в какие только дали ни ходил,
И какие только краски ни носил,
И какие ни придумывал пути –
Все равно, как суждено, пришлось идти.
Постепенно поседеет мой портрет,
Не осыплется, не знаю, сколько лет,
Лишь глаза мои останутся всегда
Одинаково спешащие туда,
Где за дымкой исчезает звездный свет,
Где печали и страданий больше нет,
Где не надо нам обманывать себя –
Все у Бога, все любимы, все друзья.
Там, где душу обогреет Свет иной,
Покажу я неудачный образ свой
И покаюсь за ужасные мазки,
За палитру осужденья и тоски.
В оправдание мне нечего сказать,
Очень трудно научиться рисовать.
И пока мне жить, не знаю, сколько лет,
Помоги мне, Боже, выполнить портрет.
\1985г.
Ugly-ugly my portrait,
I wrote it for many years.
Ineptly imposed strokes,
I need to hugging eccentrics me.
I in which only gave nor went,
And what paints either wore
And what kind of ways came up -
Anyway, as destined, I had to go.
Gradually, my portrait will seek,
Does not touch, I do not know how old
Only my eyes will always stay
Equally hurrying there
Where star light disappears behind the haze,
Where there are no more sadness and suffering
Where we do not need to deceive yourself -
Everything from God, everyone is loved, all friends.
Where the soul will warm the light of another,
I'll show I unsuccessful image
And sometimes for terrible strokes,
Behind the palette of condemnation and longing.
In justification, I have nothing to say
It is very difficult to learn to draw.
And while I live, I do not know how old
Help me, God, do a portrait.
\ 1985
I wrote it for many years.
Ineptly imposed strokes,
I need to hugging eccentrics me.
I in which only gave nor went,
And what paints either wore
And what kind of ways came up -
Anyway, as destined, I had to go.
Gradually, my portrait will seek,
Does not touch, I do not know how old
Only my eyes will always stay
Equally hurrying there
Where star light disappears behind the haze,
Where there are no more sadness and suffering
Where we do not need to deceive yourself -
Everything from God, everyone is loved, all friends.
Where the soul will warm the light of another,
I'll show I unsuccessful image
And sometimes for terrible strokes,
Behind the palette of condemnation and longing.
In justification, I have nothing to say
It is very difficult to learn to draw.
And while I live, I do not know how old
Help me, God, do a portrait.
\ 1985