Rezultatele căutării

Winter in Moscow

Palace, palace, palace, palace, palace! (1)
Protest, protest, protest, protest, protest!
 
Against corruption and dictatorships
We gather an HQ in “House of Culture” (2)
The price for brunch is fucking insane
I’m gonna sue the European Human Rights Court
Gonna down a shot of vodka in honor of the old “Afisha”
Hundred roubles left to donate to OVD-Info
I ordered pancakes, vodka’s warming up my throat
A man in uniform suddenly approaches me
“Comrade, they only serve brunch in the NATO countries
Around here, please, eat off a shovel” (3)
I told the mayor that I’m the power in here (4)
The very next moment my body was shaking
Aspired to eat pancakes at the “House of Culture”
Got tasered by cops instead
 
[Chorus]
Winter in Moscow, 2021
We go out for brunch, we go out to bother the regime
Under the cover of darkness and in the daylight
Cops appear and beat me the fuck up
 
I’m running, it’s a protest. Stop, I want a beer
To the right into the arch, entering “Beergeek” (5), asking for a pint
Bzzz. Burning a little bit lower my waistline
That’s the kind of beer you’re gonna drink in Germany
At home I ordered Yandex.Delivery
A pack of chips and other grab
I look at my purchases: on a piece of ham
The mug of comrade sergeant immediately emerges
Inside a pack of Splat Biocalcium (6)
There’s a 90-year-old war veteran in a pea coat
“You’ve offended me, faggots (7)
I’ve become a tube of toothpaste because of you”
I took my clothes off and went to bed rapidly
Decided that I’m not gonna go anywhere tonight
But then the police uniform rubbed my cheek tenderly
Your ass is breaking sanitary regulations (8)
 
[Chorus]
Winter in Moscow, 2021
We go out for brunch, we go out to bother the regime
Under the cover of darkness and in the daylight
Cops appear and beat me the fuck up
 
Broke through the frontier, but in the enemy lines
I was hit by an urgent desire to have a beer
Realizing revolution in the moment
I need to get back to “Beergeek”
I’ve already shed blood, I’ve already drunk hog-wash
And I’ve settled the Craft Beer Russia already
In this prison cell you turned into Pakhom (9)
While I’ve found my Europe in my fridge at home
 
[Chorus]
Winter in Moscow, 2021
We go out for brunch, we go out to bother the regime
Under the cover of darkness and in the daylight
Cops appear and beat me the fuck up
 

Here Below (Rhyming)

Here below, lilacs wilt so swiftly,
The trills sung by the birds are brief

On the way

Again the dawn is growing up behind the houses
Morning haste disturbs me
At the taxi driver's question:' Who am I really is?',
I simply answer: 'at times me, sometimes not me.'
 
Can I smoke? I'll try to retell
How is hard for me here and what I'll wait further
No, I don't need your advice
I know by myself: the dreams remained as yet
 
Many years I sailed but I didn't see a sea
Summer has passed kinda the fast horses raced
Look into my eyes: they're shining like the stars
I don't think about marriage: I'm not rich as yet
 
And it's so hard to explain, how I've become here
Yes, they pay not too much but it's enough for me
Go on, do not slow down
Turn the music louder, stop talking
 
The dusk is downing while I'm looking
I don't sleep at nights, think about what and how.
But it is trouble: in the words is a real depth
My hyperactivity is armed
 
And then I'll become weaker in the next few days
Squandered immunity, drowsiness again as is
I tell you, dude, not on theme
But I'm not guilty- you started first
 
Many years I sailed but I didn't see a sea
There is no truth anywhere - they just talk about it
A body isn't mine and my soul isn't mine
A long, close tight loop of my life
 
And where I will be gone with my life
I'm ready for everything that my fate will bring
But I can't say anything more as yet
Turn the music louder, we will dance
 

Frogs Are Croaking In The Pond

Frogs are croaking in the pond
Right behind the village,
As I spin tall tales and more
In my sweetheart's ears.
 
© St.Sol @ LT: all rights reserved.

The broken vase

The vase where this ververa is dying
was hit by a fan and broken.
It must have barely brushed it:
no sound would betray the blow.
 
Still the slight bruise
bit through the crystal every day.
It wound its invisible way
and slowly went a full circle.
 
Fresh water dripped out,
the flowers' sap dwindled,
yet no one suspects anything.
Don't touch it, it is broken.
 
So does often the loved hand
bruises the heart it brushes.
Then the heart cracks open,
the flower of its love perishes.
 
Still seemingly intact,
it feels its thin and deep wound
quielty grow and weep.
It is broken, don't touch it.
 
This translation does not claim to be of any particular value.
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You can reuse it as you please.
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Ancient houses

I don't like new houses:
their face is indifferent.
The old ones look like widows
remembering and crying.
 
The cracks in their old plaster
seem like the wrinkles of an elderly.
Their greenish window panes
seem to cast a benevolent sad glance!
 
Their doors are hospitable,
for these gates have aged well.
Their walls are familiar
for all the welcoming they did.
 
The keys rust in locks there
for the hearts have no secrets left.
Time dulls the gilding there
but makes the portraits more true.
 
Dear voices sleep within them,
and in the big bed curtains,
a breath of fatherly soul
still ripples the old drapes.
 
I love sooth blackened fireplaces
whence swallows or rain
can be heard in the air
as spring and winter come.
 
I love those stairs that are climbed
on broad and low steps
by feet that know their count so well
for having bent them inder their weight.
 
I love the sagging roof, the attic
and its worm-eaten beams
that brings back under its frame
memories of bygone woods.
 
What I love most is the only beam
crossing the great hall
where the family gathers
that bears the full weight of the home.
 
Unmoving and busy,
it supports like in the past
the wary and cheerful kind
that still trust its wood.
 
It doesn't break under the load,
although its cracked sides
feel their wounds widening
and are all riddled by worms.
 
Drawing from an unknown strength,
pulling its last bits together,
the valiant oak still holds firm
under the rhythm of craddles.
 
Yet the children are growing older.
The beam is already bending.
It will further give way,
some ingrate will put it to the fire.
 
And, after burning it,
the memories of its good deed
will go up in smoke.
It will be utterly gone.
 
Truly dead indeed,
among all kinds of remains
scattered under many names,
for dead things have no offsprings.
 
As worn out maids
pass out in isolation,
things fall and are despised
and meet their ultimate end.
 
This is why, as the rubbles
of old houses are put to the flame,
a dreamer feels souls burning
among the embers' blue flashes.
 
This translation does not claim to be of any particular value.
Glad if you liked it, sorry if you didn't.
You can reuse it as you please.
Glad if it's for knowledge or understanding, sorry if it's just for money or fame.

Dragă Prudence

Dragă Prudence, nu vii să te joci?
Dragă Prudence, salută noua zi.
Soarele-i sus, cerul e-albastru
Totu-i frumos şi-aşa şi tu,
Dragă Prudence, nu vii să te joci?
 
Dragă Prudence, deschide-ţi ochii
Dragă Prudence, priveşte ochii-nsoriţi
Vântul e blând şi păsări cântă
că tu eşti parte din totul
Dragă Prudence, nu vrei ochii să-i deschizi?
 
Priveşte în jur
Priveşte de jur împrejur
Priveşte-n jur....
 
Dragă Prudence, lasă-mă să te văd zâmbind
Dragă Prudence, ca un copilaş
Norii vor fi un lanţ de margarete,
deci lasă-mă să te văd zâmbind
Dragă Prudence, nu vrei să mă laşi să te văd zâmbind?...