Lyrics Сергей Труханов - Большая московская колыбельная

The bird of sleep raised its head
Flew over the roofs, over the lanterns,
Blue wings of the seas
Splashed at your window.
From the right wing to you - a quiet coast,
From the left wing - a prophetic dream.
The gray feather is my bow.
Dreaming, not dreaming? How to check?
Sleep, sleep, do not rush,
Thoughts-thoughts in the swamp sea.

Is the bird singing or is it raining?
Night taxi driver in Moscow is lucky
Not me to you, not you to me -
Who is lucky is not visible in a dream.
In the night windows of a fish-taxi
Dives, swims away, traces sweeps,
Do not interrogate, ask do not ask:
A taxi driver rides around the city at night.
Silver fox, gold earrings -
She put her foot on the night
Smokes a cigarette, beckons with a finger,
He doesn’t tell the bunny boy to sleep.
Hugs, kisses, takes with him -
The next morning no one will find a trace!

And also a bird
Craftswoman spin yarn:
From the street - a ray, from the pillow - fluff,
The thread runs - it does not break
It’s not given to anyone.
Hang on it, sway
Until mom saw
Take a ride around the city
And - under the covers.

On branches not mermaids braids braid -
My good friends are sitting, drinking!
Straight from the neck to the bottom.
Take away from them, Lord, a red band.
Bul-bul, but there’s nothing to eat!
Blue air for a snack, green evening.
It’s a pity we weren’t there - you would like it,
Green evening would be reduced in Moscow.

A bird sings, a cradle shakes,
Another dream begins to twist.
Friends gathered - one did not come.
Where are you lost?
Did you find a girlfriend,
Walked with her.
She twirls her skirt like a damn tail
Dries with promises, and then with fasting,
And he is glad to try, to care for her -
Not a long skirt something to rustle, show off:
On a chair thrown back, dusted with ash ...
The main thing is that for the joy of everything, in a good way.
The bird dropped a new feather -
It has become dark, Lord.
Not a dream - a grave.
Presses on the chest - neither call, nor breathe.
Where's the darling? Can not hear!
Look all night, call all the corners ...
Lined somewhere?
That's how it all came out!
It was - as it was not. There was, yes, gone.
I did not say two words.
Musicians on the street go, have fun,
They wink at the girls, they’re not afraid of the guys!
One blows to the tune, another waves the violin:
The truth is yours! And the fun is ours!
What else is visible? A feather is new.
Sit at home, do not walk, black-browed.
Sit, talk, make tea,
Turn-turn concerts and arias.
This is a songbird, blue and tender
Silver throat, feather of snow:
Winter, winter ... Winter!
Heaping snow - the mind will increase.
But it will not increase - it’s good and crazy.
Itself crazy, but smart like.
Smart, smart, but crazy.
What is it, Lord?
The holiday is noisy!
Everything around is white. What is not white is black.
A nimble ring rolls on a saucer,
Inside is silver, outside is golden.
They drink, sing, dance - a feast by the hill!
On the mountain - a tower. In the tower - the dough.
Winter, winter ...
Black groom, white bride.
It’s not up to the mind!
A draft door slams -
Uncle stamps his feet,
Drinks, sings, dances -
Waves his fist!
Where to go? Who to snuggle up to?
The dress was lost - nothing to dress ...
The bird sings and sings, the feathers lose.
The right wing is melting
The left is melting.
Throat nightingale singing tiredly.
The bird is gone. It's time for the blanket.
Under the covers it’s warm, good.
In the yard - the first snowball.
The janitor is trying, the yard is scratching.
The dream is clear. Who will make out?