Lyrics Іван Драч - Крила
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Через лiс-перелiс,
через море навкiс
Новий рiк для людей подарунки нiс:
Кому — шапку смушеву,
кому — люльку дешеву,
Кому — модернi кастети,
кому — фотоннi ракети,
Кому — солi до бараболi,
кому — три снопи вiтру в полi,
Кому — пушок на рило,
а дядьковi Кириловi — крила.
Був день як день, i раптом — непорядок,
Куфайку з-пiд лопаток — як ножем прошило.
Пробивши вату, заряхтiли радо,
На сонцi закипiли синi крила.
Голоднi небом, випростались туго,
Ковтали з неба синє мерехтiння,
А в дядька в серцi — туга,
А в дядька в серцi — тiнi.
(Кому — долю багряну,
кому — сонце з туману,
Кому — перса дiвочi,
кому — смерть серед ночi,
Щоб тебе доля побила,
а Кириловi, прости господи, — крила).
Жiнка голосила: "Люди як люди,
Ïм доля маслом губи змастила.
Кому — валянки,
кому — мед од простуди,
Кому — жом у господу,
а цьому гаспиду,
прости господи, — крила?!"
Так Кирило до тями брiв,
I, щоб мати якусь свободу,
Сокиру бруском задобрив,
I крила обтяв об колоду.
Та коли захлинались сичi,
Насмiхалися зорi з Кирила,
I, пробивши сорочку вночi,
Знов кипiли пружинистi крила.
Так Кирило з сокирою жив,
На крилах навiть розжився —
Крилами хату вшив,
Крилами обгородився.
А тi крила розкрали поети,
Щоб ïх муза була небезкрила,
На тi крила молились, естети,
I снилося небо порубаним крилам.
(Кому — новi ворота,
кому — ширшого рота,
Кому — сонце в кишеню,
кому — дулю дешеву,
Щоб тебе доля побила,
а Кириловi — не пощастить же
отак чоловiковi — крила).
через море навкiс
Новий рiк для людей подарунки нiс:
Кому — шапку смушеву,
кому — люльку дешеву,
Кому — модернi кастети,
кому — фотоннi ракети,
Кому — солi до бараболi,
кому — три снопи вiтру в полi,
Кому — пушок на рило,
а дядьковi Кириловi — крила.
Був день як день, i раптом — непорядок,
Куфайку з-пiд лопаток — як ножем прошило.
Пробивши вату, заряхтiли радо,
На сонцi закипiли синi крила.
Голоднi небом, випростались туго,
Ковтали з неба синє мерехтiння,
А в дядька в серцi — туга,
А в дядька в серцi — тiнi.
(Кому — долю багряну,
кому — сонце з туману,
Кому — перса дiвочi,
кому — смерть серед ночi,
Щоб тебе доля побила,
а Кириловi, прости господи, — крила).
Жiнка голосила: "Люди як люди,
Ïм доля маслом губи змастила.
Кому — валянки,
кому — мед од простуди,
Кому — жом у господу,
а цьому гаспиду,
прости господи, — крила?!"
Так Кирило до тями брiв,
I, щоб мати якусь свободу,
Сокиру бруском задобрив,
I крила обтяв об колоду.
Та коли захлинались сичi,
Насмiхалися зорi з Кирила,
I, пробивши сорочку вночi,
Знов кипiли пружинистi крила.
Так Кирило з сокирою жив,
На крилах навiть розжився —
Крилами хату вшив,
Крилами обгородився.
А тi крила розкрали поети,
Щоб ïх муза була небезкрила,
На тi крила молились, естети,
I снилося небо порубаним крилам.
(Кому — новi ворота,
кому — ширшого рота,
Кому — сонце в кишеню,
кому — дулю дешеву,
Щоб тебе доля побила,
а Кириловi — не пощастить же
отак чоловiковi — крила).
Through the forest-forest,
across the sea diagonally
New Year for people brought gifts:
To whom - a smoothie hat,
to whom - a cradle cheap,
Who - modern fists,
to whom - photon rockets,
To whom - salt to the drum,
to whom - three sheaves of wind in the field,
To whom - down on a snout,
and to Uncle Kirill - wings.
There was a day like a day, and suddenly - a mess,
A cup from under the shoulder blades - like a knife.
After piercing the cotton wool, they roared happily,
Blue wings boiled in the sun.
Hungry for heaven, straightened up,
Blue flicker swallowed from the sky,
And in the uncle in heart - longing,
And my uncle has shadows in his heart.
(To whom - the fate of crimson,
to whom is the sun from the mist,
To whom are Persian girls,
to whom - death in the middle of the night,
That fate beat you,
and Cyril, God forbid, - wings).
The woman cried, "People as people,
Доm fate greased his lips with oil.
To whom - felt boots,
to whom - honey from a cold,
To whom is the pulp of the Lord,
and this gaspid,
God forbid, wings ?! "
So Cyril to the eyebrows,
I, to have some freedom,
Having flattered an ax with a bar,
I wrapped my wings around the deck.
But when the owls choked,
The stars from Cyril smiled,
And, having pierced his shirt at night,
The springy wings boiled again.
So Cyril lived with an ax,
He even made a living on the wings -
I sewed the wings of the house,
He was surrounded by wings.
And those wings were stolen by poets,
That their muse was not open,
Aesthetes prayed on those wings,
And the sky dreamed of chopped wings.
(To whom are the new gates,
to whom - a wider mouth,
Who has the sun in his pocket,
to whom - a fig is cheap,
That fate beat you,
and Kirill is unlucky
so men - wings).
across the sea diagonally
New Year for people brought gifts:
To whom - a smoothie hat,
to whom - a cradle cheap,
Who - modern fists,
to whom - photon rockets,
To whom - salt to the drum,
to whom - three sheaves of wind in the field,
To whom - down on a snout,
and to Uncle Kirill - wings.
There was a day like a day, and suddenly - a mess,
A cup from under the shoulder blades - like a knife.
After piercing the cotton wool, they roared happily,
Blue wings boiled in the sun.
Hungry for heaven, straightened up,
Blue flicker swallowed from the sky,
And in the uncle in heart - longing,
And my uncle has shadows in his heart.
(To whom - the fate of crimson,
to whom is the sun from the mist,
To whom are Persian girls,
to whom - death in the middle of the night,
That fate beat you,
and Cyril, God forbid, - wings).
The woman cried, "People as people,
Доm fate greased his lips with oil.
To whom - felt boots,
to whom - honey from a cold,
To whom is the pulp of the Lord,
and this gaspid,
God forbid, wings ?! "
So Cyril to the eyebrows,
I, to have some freedom,
Having flattered an ax with a bar,
I wrapped my wings around the deck.
But when the owls choked,
The stars from Cyril smiled,
And, having pierced his shirt at night,
The springy wings boiled again.
So Cyril lived with an ax,
He even made a living on the wings -
I sewed the wings of the house,
He was surrounded by wings.
And those wings were stolen by poets,
That their muse was not open,
Aesthetes prayed on those wings,
And the sky dreamed of chopped wings.
(To whom are the new gates,
to whom - a wider mouth,
Who has the sun in his pocket,
to whom - a fig is cheap,
That fate beat you,
and Kirill is unlucky
so men - wings).