Lyrics Сергей Садовников - Олег Горшков - Алхимия одиночества

The feeling of loneliness is probably similar to the feeling of a woman:
in the corners of dark lips something radiates, plays, splashes -
golden fish of foreknowledge ... kinship between him and you
you read in him expectation, timidity, grin, a certain appeal ...
it’s easy with him, with him, you, for fun, of course, while on “you”,
but closer and closer this young, angular creature.

You already love him, you follow his barely audible pipe.
The silence in the pipe is so whimsical, so illegible, so
 talkative with God, repeating to himself - I do not believe ...
It still remembers something much more than
 all that will take from scratch, it climbed into the attic
 and lives there with you, and reads the Songs of the Great Kingdom of Chen,

and smokes furtively, picks up Chinese names for the stars,
it smells of fishing net, book dust, mint, onion set
 and, of course, happiness, if happiness has a certain smell.
Here it is at first, or, one might say, such it ...
And then you suddenly discover that you were not familiar
 with her at all. As, however, with himself. And as if in one gulp

 the long silenced silence will shake the cannon,
and from the sky, the gods, the gods, will shower head down, shining,
and the great kingdom of Chen will fall, like a spike cut to harvest,
and you'll listen to raindrops banging on the bottom
 a tin bucket in an old hut, in a house by the road -
you fall into childhood, you hear your father’s voice,

the sound of his violin, striving a cloud to flash through,
you will become lighter than a water strider, stronger than an axis,
on which the globe of the earth rotates in wet autumn,
You will see how the sky opens at dusk with a female bosom.
Loneliness will become life, birth, death, fate,
your Magdalene, your Maria, descended from the Kazan icon.

You see in the specks of dust the pattern of yellow diatoms,
you will understand that the opportunity to be alone with the whole world
 not a metaphor at all - you just need a kettle for this,
boiling, rain outside the window, some kind of sad motive
 from an old radio, some kind of childish whim in the mind,
and still the art of not regretting a day that flashed like a flush,

about elusive time - the gift of completely forgetting about it
 and indulge completely in life that has filled the air,
injected into bergamot tea, music, fingertips,
soaked tobacco in cigarettes, drafty letting into the house,
letting in all the loneliness of the world as guests,
and you will be sure that in the image and likeness was created,

you will become the god of your loneliness and his slave,
a genius, a madman, the last insignificant creature,
pure nature, bare abstraction, breathing emptiness,
Faust, waking up in you, will scream at that moment: “Wait,
stop the moment, you "... You do not know what then
 the moment will turn around

 beloved loneliness, becoming insane Xanthippe,
a monster devouring greedily with himself
 one who sought in him peace, refuge, deliverance
 whenever he died of guilt and blinding pain ...
And I wanted wine and some kind of mortal laziness ...
They forgave you, and you, guilty, would forgive them all,

probably he could have asked for forgiveness from everyone should -
mother, friend, wife, moth, petal, blade of grass,
with your son, who is alone with you - for being so alone
 we are all from birth ... but, God, how much suffering is in the face
 Your Kazan ... or is it just flare playing
 candles, and futile expectations craftyly multiply everything, multiply,
and a familiar voice calls you on a long journey ...