Lyrics Евгений Евтушенко - Облако в штанах. 2 - В.Маяковский

Praise me!
I'm not a great couple.
I'm over everything that's done,
put "nihil".

Never
I do not want to read anything.
Books?
What books!

I used to think -
books are done like this:
came the poet,
easily opened his mouth,
and immediately sang an inspired simpleton -
you are welcome!
But it turns out -
before he starts to sing,
a long walk, cleansed from fermentation,
and quietly floundering in the mire of the heart
stupid wobble of imagination.
While boiled, rhyme pilka,
from lovers and nightingales some kind of brew,
street writhes without language -
she has nothing to shout and talk.

Cities of the Babylonian Towers,
arrogantly, we raise again,
and God
cities in arable land
ruins,
interfering with the word.

The street flour in silence pearl.
The scream was sticking out of his throat.
They crumpled, stuck in the middle of their throats,
plump taxi and bony spans
the breasts were pissed.

Tissues are fatter.
The city blocked the road with darkness.

And when -
all the same! "
she squeezed a crush on the square,
sphywn stepping on the throat of the porch,
thought:
in the chorale of the archangel chorale
God, robbed, it's time to punish!

And the street crouched and yelled:
"Let's go and eat!"

Make up the city of Kruppy and Kruppiki
The menacing eyebrows,
and in the mouth
dead words are decomposed corpse,
only two live, fat -
"bastard"
and some other,
it seems, "borscht".

Poets,
sodden in weeping and sobbing,
rushed from the street,
"How to sing two of these
and the young lady,
and love,
and a flower under dew? "
And for the poets -
more than a thousand:
students,
prostitutes,
contractors.

Gentlemen!
Stop it!
You are not beggars,
you dare not ask for handouts!

We, hefty,
with a step senzhenim,
we must not listen, and tear them -
their,
sucked in free application
to every double bed!

Do they humbly ask:
"Help me!"
Pray for the hymn,
about the oratorio!
We ourselves are creators in a burning hymn -
noise factory and laboratory.

What do I care about Faust,
extravaganza of missiles
sliding with Mephistopheles in the heavenly dance floor!
I know -
the nail is in my boot
A nightmare more than Goethe's imagination!

I,
zlatoustestshy,
whose every word
soul newborn,
Calls the body,
I say to you:
the smallest dust of life
the most valuable thing that I'll do and do!

Listen!
Preaches,
waving and wall,
Today, the scoundrel Zarathustra!
we
with a face like a sleepy sheet,
with lips that sagged like a chandelier,
we,
convicts of the city-leprosarium,
where gold and dirt have erupted from leprosy, -
we are purer than the Venetian lazor,
seas and sun washed immediately!

I do not care if I do not
Homer and Ovidian
people like us,
from soot in smallpox.
I know -
the sun would fade, seeing
Our souls are gold placers!

The veins and muscles are more faithful.
Do we beg for the favors of time!
We -
each -
we keep in my hand
worlds drive belts!

It was heavily influenced by the Calvary Audiences
Petrograd, Moscow, Odessa, Kiev,
and there was not one,
which the
would not shout:
"Crucify,
crucify him! "
But to me -
people,
and those that offended -
you are more precious to me and closer.

We saw,
how is the dog beating his hand ?!

I,
obscured by today's tribe,
how long
scabrous anecdote,
I see the time passing through the mountains,
which no one sees.

Where the eyes of people breaks short,
head of the hungry hordes,
in the crown of revolutions
the sixteenth year is coming.

And I have you as his forerunner;
I - where the pain is, everywhere;
on each drop of a tear leak
crucified himself on the cross.
Nothing can be forgiven.
I burned the soul where tenderness was raised.
It's harder than taking
one thousand thousand Bastille!

And when,
his coming
mutinizing the rebellion,
go to the savior -
you to me
soul I will pull out,
I will trample,
That big! -
and the bloody ladies, like a banner.