Lyrics Трио Откровение - старинная гравюра
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Соседка соседку с утра призывает к войне:
Та ставни раскрыла, а город так густо заставлен,
Что, если окно распахнуть на одной стороне,
Напротив уже не откинешь до вечера ставен.
Мужлан из предместья волов своих тянет за хвост.
Телега застряла под хохот калек и воровок.
Патруль не рискует усесться в седле в полный рост,
Чтоб в тесную сеть бельевых не попасться веревок.
В морозы здесь душно – течет по фасадам роса,
А в землетрясенья дома дымоходами трутся.
В проулке хромом по карнизу от шпор полоса,
А в башне горбатой со стражником не разминуться.
И только двоим из высоких напротив окон
Не тесно в том граде, не душно в том смраде воловьем:
Она протянула над городом руки, и он
Их держит всю ночь над дымящимся средневековьем.
A neighbor next door calls for war in the morning:
That shutters opened, and the city is so densely crowded,
What if the window is flung open on one side,
On the contrary, you can’t tilt the shutters until the evening.
A bumpkin from the outskirts of his oxen pulls his tail.
The cart was stuck under the laughter of cripples and thieves.
The patrol does not risk sitting in the saddle at full height,
So as not to get caught in the tight network of clothesline.
In cold weather it’s stuffy - dew flows on the facades,
And in earthquakes at home, they rub by chimneys.
In the alleyway, chrome on the ledge from the spurs strip,
And in the hunchbacked tower with the guard not to miss each other.
And only two of the high opposite the windows
Not crowded in that city, not stuffy in that stench with oxen:
She held out her hands over the city, and he
They are kept all night over the steaming Middle Ages.
That shutters opened, and the city is so densely crowded,
What if the window is flung open on one side,
On the contrary, you can’t tilt the shutters until the evening.
A bumpkin from the outskirts of his oxen pulls his tail.
The cart was stuck under the laughter of cripples and thieves.
The patrol does not risk sitting in the saddle at full height,
So as not to get caught in the tight network of clothesline.
In cold weather it’s stuffy - dew flows on the facades,
And in earthquakes at home, they rub by chimneys.
In the alleyway, chrome on the ledge from the spurs strip,
And in the hunchbacked tower with the guard not to miss each other.
And only two of the high opposite the windows
Not crowded in that city, not stuffy in that stench with oxen:
She held out her hands over the city, and he
They are kept all night over the steaming Middle Ages.