Lyrics Булат Окуджава - Песенка о дальней дороге
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Забудешь поздний праздник и первую утрату,
когда луны колеса затренькают по тракту,
и силуэт совиный склонится с облучка,
и прямо в душу грянет простой романс сверчка.
Пускай глядит с порога красотка, увядая,
та гордая, та злая, та злая, та святая...
Что прелесть ее ручек? Что жар ее перин?
Давай, брат, отрешимся. Давай, брат, воспарим.
Жена, как говорится, найдет себе другого,
какого-никакого, как ты, недорогого.
А дальняя дорога дана тебе судьбой,
как матушкины слезы, она всегда с тобой.
Покуда ночка длится, покуда бричка катит,
дороги этой длинной на нас с тобою хватит.
Зачем ладонь с повинной ты на сердце кладешь?
Чего не потеряешь -- того, брат, не найдешь.
От сосен запах хлебный, от неба свет целебный,
а от любови бедной сыночек будет бледный.
А дальняя дорога...
А дальняя дорога...
А дальняя дорога...
1967
Forget the late feast and the first loss,
When the moons of the wheel are tied along the path,
and the silhouette of the owl will bend down from the box,
and a simple romance of a cricket will strike straight into the soul.
Let her gaze from the threshold of the beauty, withering,
that proud, that evil, that evil, that holy ...
What is the beauty of her pens? What is the fever of her featherbeds?
Come on, brother, we'll give it up. Come on, brother, let's soar.
The wife, as they say, will find another,
any, like you, inexpensive.
And the long road is given to you by destiny,
as mothers tears, she is always with you.
As long as the night lasts, as long as the cart rolls,
The road is long for us and you will be enough.
Why put a palm on your heart?
What you will not lose - that, brother, you will not find.
From the pines the smell of bread, from the sky the light of healing,
but from the love of the poor little son will be pale.
And the distant road ...
And the distant road ...
And the distant road ...
1967
When the moons of the wheel are tied along the path,
and the silhouette of the owl will bend down from the box,
and a simple romance of a cricket will strike straight into the soul.
Let her gaze from the threshold of the beauty, withering,
that proud, that evil, that evil, that holy ...
What is the beauty of her pens? What is the fever of her featherbeds?
Come on, brother, we'll give it up. Come on, brother, let's soar.
The wife, as they say, will find another,
any, like you, inexpensive.
And the long road is given to you by destiny,
as mothers tears, she is always with you.
As long as the night lasts, as long as the cart rolls,
The road is long for us and you will be enough.
Why put a palm on your heart?
What you will not lose - that, brother, you will not find.
From the pines the smell of bread, from the sky the light of healing,
but from the love of the poor little son will be pale.
And the distant road ...
And the distant road ...
And the distant road ...
1967