Lyrics Сергей Тимошенко - Поиск

sl. and muses. - S. Timoshenko, Omsk
recording, mixing, mastering - P. Chernyshov, Omsk

Cm_______________Fm____
From apartment comfort and cares,
______G7_______________Cm______
Equipping, we go deep into the marshes,
______Ab________________Fm______
Do not change the bitterness of salt sweet honey,
______G7_________________
Few people will appreciate this and will understand.
Surprised only to be asked what kind of forest
The one in which our squad as a louse climbed
He is a fence near the kingdom of his forefathers
Separates the world of the living from the dead.

C7___________Fm_________________B
This thicket of trunks is an aged commander,
_______________Eb________________Ab
He does not let us, without words, blocking the path,
__________________Fm________________G7
Here the reality floats before the eyes of those,
_____________Bm___________________C7
Whom memory calls far from idle joy
The web of the ligature reflects the signal,
Yelnik in radio communication here all the sounds driven,
But I became deaf to them, because it's like a buckshot
_________________Ab______________G7Cm
Cut my Russian rumor foreign speech.

Exactly the whitewashed bathhouse steam room
The veil fell before me,
I instantly slowed down, not breathing,
When I saw in the fog of the PPSh.
Here the Red Army man quietly crawls into the ditch,
The whistle of a grenade, shattered into the chips of the SAM,
Originated by the explosion in that war
Echo of battle settled suddenly in me.

Ground for seventy years rusted from wounds
In it, the underlying skeleton is all one - a veteran
Not waiting for the spring, under the lead frost
Collapsed near the pine and roots sprouted.
And the quagmire dregs of a rotten stump
Not surviving a little until the victorious day
Crochets with mossy or dirty water,
Lay down for ages all in the grave of one.
 
(transition to Dm)
You sip your viscas in your armchair,
I'm using the hand of an ice-cold shake "fischer"
To the great-grandfathers, having raised from the earth,
With the Christian ritual they were buried.
Worse than being a hero without a face
That's why both souls and hearts
Brighter urban lights in the dark
Search fires from the guys.

Fir silently costs a sentinel near the post
And, frozen, trembles at this hour for good reason
She brought the smell of wind from the rugged hills
Unnamed coffins are freshly chopped.
It's as if the flesh was nailed, so that the blood spurted,
There from a pair of carnations scarlet color petals
From the wooden rows of crowded pits
And the moleben is ready for unknown guys.