Lyrics Posternak - Кофейное Зерно

kept by all
a seed falls into the earth,
links of new plants
two-year-old young greens
a swarthy hand
collects the burden of scarlet fruits,
fingers
removing the flesh of the berries of the coffee plantation

in the beginning from the green, separated from the shell
The innocent receive
millions scorched by rays
humidity 11 and a half
by morning a simple trick
bags backed shoulders carry to the pier,
loaded into the hold

when the air
remains terrestrial
on the paths of the shepherds
travels grain

the world is torn along the horizon to pieces
so that the coffee beans converge in the cup

further, somewhere in Italy,
The taxi driver tops out of the coffee pot,
continuing midnight italics
brings a priest,
the truth is hidden in the coffee sleepless grain
especially when the night on earth

the gentleman is shaking at night express,
on the rails dropping drops of Espresso
on the yellow press
coffee beans in the middle of the process
the night is filled with weight
is about to crack the old French press

and if
waiter drops a cup in the half-empty in the suburbs
she flies to pieces
in a crowded coffee shop in New York City
grains pour on the bar,
someone wants to fall asleep, but with each shelf
the universe rings with a coffee mill
and this call will not be silent
and this call will not be silent

Las Vegas, casino, to spite everything falls zero
Croupier to not fall asleep chewing coffee beans
that was imported from the previous day
waiters do not remember the confused pattern
yesterday's tables, the amount
tips, a history that is not heard enough
fallen out link, alas, coffee beans
in the center of Moscow
burnt out boards
the glass can not hide,
nor to recreate
the former explosion of milk in Latte

Amsterdam, travesty show,
one comes out of a coffee shop
with a shroud under the hood
through the grain sending his whisper
in the bend of the earlobe, which did not know the earring
old women Izergil, swallowing listergin
she will tell the instructions to the heart
if you can not see it

grown in summer
to die in winter
six parts of the world
all seven continents
fit into one coffee bean

night. cinema hall. Morocco. black-and-white movie
the projectionist believes in God, believing in caffeine
Rome. cooled Mokko. morning aether
spleen. a knock of buttons knocks out on screen Fin

night. cinema hall. Morocco. black-and-white movie
the projectionist believes in God, believing in caffeine
Rome. cooled Mokko. morning aether
spleen. a knock of buttons knocks out on screen Fin

the world is no more than open moleskin
bend of earlobe without earrings of old woman Izergil
adhesive brand in the county town of Lizinggin
where, dispersing the dust of an era
in the hotel rooms turns screw
While the kitchen boils forgotten coffee

coffeemaker noise, grains cross the equator
the man was neatly dressed
looking for the cause of the universe in a foamy abyss
surface Cappuccino
imagining another face

where someone drinks coffee with milk
trembling hand
writes a letter line by line,

that someone is finishing their coffee with milk
trembling hand
prints line by line,

about the fact that for ever and ever
for ever
The universe is only a Turk in the fingers of a borist

it is made
of the sixty grains of Beethoven

so wound up,
while the coffee bean grows
while someone is writing a letter
while someone is writing a letter