Lyrics Варя - Южный романс
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Не торопи. Всему свой срок. Не торопи меня ни в чем.
Всему свой счет. Как ни крути - из девяти не выбить сто.
"Спешите жить", - сказал мудрец. Я этой мудрости учен.
Я верил ей. Я так спешил. А толку что? А толку что?...
Не торопи. И так полжизни поскакали на рысях.
Загнать коня - мы эту блажь оставим божьему гонцу.
Куда спешить, когда дожди уже осенне моросят,
и август тает на глазах, и лето близится к концу!
Передо мной мерцал в ночи лица любимого овал.
К нему влеком, я от него спешил неведомо куда
и, торопясь, в чужих домах послушных женщин раздевал
и, торопясь, хватал такси, глотал вино, листал года.
Но это лето подкралось, лучами южными маня -
я им пресытиться не смог, я в нем купался, как в раю,
и моря Черного качель качала медленно меня,
прохладной струйкою цедя в меня медлительность свою.
Не торопи. Опять прибой соленой пылью окропил.
Когда еще вдохнем всей грудью этот бриз береговой...
Шалунья смерть срывает нас, как ветер крыши со стропил,-
поди узнай, когда дохнет она над нашей головой.
Нам восемь дней еще кутить под этим звездным шалашом,
нам восемь дней еще коптить свои ленивые тела,
и в серебристую волну бросаться ночью голышом,
цедить вино, сходить с ума - и все дела, и все дела!
Не торопи. Всему свой срок. Не торопи меня ни в чем.
Всему свой счет. Как ни крути - из девяти не выбить сто.
"Спешите жить", - сказал мудрец. Я этой мудрости учен.
Я верил ей. Я так спешил. А толку что? А толку что?...
Do not rush. Everything has its own time. Do not rush me in anything.
Everything has its own account. Whatever one may say, you can not beat a hundred out of nine.
"Hurry up and live," said the sage. I have learned this wisdom.
I believed her. I was in such a hurry. A sense of what? And what's the use? ...
Do not rush. And so half a life galloped on the trots.
Drive the horse - we will leave this curse to the messenger of God.
Where to hurry, when the rain is already drizzling autumn,
and August is melting before our eyes, and the summer is drawing to a close!
Before me, the face of the beloved owl flickered in the night.
Toward him, I was in no hurry from him
and, hurrying, in the strange houses of obedient women undressed
and, hurrying, grabbed a taxi, swallowed wine, leafed through the year.
But this summer has crept up, rays of southern beckoning -
I could not get enough of them, I bathed in it, like in paradise,
and the sea of the Black swing rocked me slowly,
With a cool trickle, pouring into me my slowness.
Do not rush. Again the surf sprinkled with salt dust.
When we breathe in all the breast this beach breeze ...
Shalunya death tears us, like the wind of a roof with rafters, -
Go find out when she's dying over our head.
We have eight days to eat under this stately hut,
we have eight days to smoke our lazy bodies,
and in a silvery wave to rush at night naked,
to win wine, to go crazy - and all the deeds, and all the deeds!
Do not rush. Everything has its own time. Do not rush me in anything.
Everything has its own account. Whatever one may say, you can not beat a hundred out of nine.
"Hurry up and live," said the sage. I have learned this wisdom.
I believed her. I was in such a hurry. A sense of what? And what's the use? ...
Everything has its own account. Whatever one may say, you can not beat a hundred out of nine.
"Hurry up and live," said the sage. I have learned this wisdom.
I believed her. I was in such a hurry. A sense of what? And what's the use? ...
Do not rush. And so half a life galloped on the trots.
Drive the horse - we will leave this curse to the messenger of God.
Where to hurry, when the rain is already drizzling autumn,
and August is melting before our eyes, and the summer is drawing to a close!
Before me, the face of the beloved owl flickered in the night.
Toward him, I was in no hurry from him
and, hurrying, in the strange houses of obedient women undressed
and, hurrying, grabbed a taxi, swallowed wine, leafed through the year.
But this summer has crept up, rays of southern beckoning -
I could not get enough of them, I bathed in it, like in paradise,
and the sea of the Black swing rocked me slowly,
With a cool trickle, pouring into me my slowness.
Do not rush. Again the surf sprinkled with salt dust.
When we breathe in all the breast this beach breeze ...
Shalunya death tears us, like the wind of a roof with rafters, -
Go find out when she's dying over our head.
We have eight days to eat under this stately hut,
we have eight days to smoke our lazy bodies,
and in a silvery wave to rush at night naked,
to win wine, to go crazy - and all the deeds, and all the deeds!
Do not rush. Everything has its own time. Do not rush me in anything.
Everything has its own account. Whatever one may say, you can not beat a hundred out of nine.
"Hurry up and live," said the sage. I have learned this wisdom.
I believed her. I was in such a hurry. A sense of what? And what's the use? ...