Текст песни Крек и Ассаи - Ольга Петровна

In the eyes of her whole life , all dreams.
From the windows of the old houses are visible
Narrow slits of eyes,
Squinting , for the last time
She sees a place
Where leave childhood.
Running away from the rain on the sidewalks wet
Clamped under his arm a volume of Nabokov.
Child , girl, woman ... Old age came quietly ,
While piers creaked in the wind.
" Break the elderly cough, delight in a dream , and only " -
I groaned widow Olga .
She was not nice weather already . In the dusty , musty room, knocked on the wall :
"Where are you calling from? "
" I saw God , saw the blood on his hands ", -
I whispered the old lady 's coat .
Bequeathed grandchildren apartment -
Newlyweds added potassium cyanide in carafes .
It smells of ginger and dreams
Spring melts on the eyes -
And now, Autumn Place .
Too thin walls, too little light .
So many years have passed . We shadow of these years.
Lashes - a heart pounding .
And that tune , whisper bystanders.
Warm rustle plate
And there is nothing more expensive than not those old pictures.
Where the stalker that walks her to the depths of memory , return back to the springtime of the year ?
She wanted to return to innocence
Day after day the pain killing something such as morphine.
Under the shade letters to relatives , distant.
"Hi , Mom " , granite line
Footnotes and there is something about the eternal memory .
We do not stop the ice that melts.
No, not again , and do not try to play with it .
Remember last time? Will you continue to know.
When your grandson cried , I do not remember who was with him,
And you kept saying : " It can not be so ."
No, close your eyes and show his hand :
It tells us the story of past years .
Melts year , followed by another .
No one is indispensable . No one is indispensable .
In the eyes of her whole life , all dreams.
From the windows of the old houses are visible
Narrow slits of eyes,
Squinting in the last time,
She sees a place
Where leave childhood.
Running away from the rain on the sidewalks wet
Clamped under his arm a volume of Nabokov.
Child , girl, woman ... Old age came quietly ,
While piers creaked in the wind.
Wednesday. Eight in the morning . All rise for work or study .
Everyone has his own business,
As soon as she
Despite the pain in the body,
Gets out of bed ,
Barely moving ,
Is in tunnels or to the church.
There you can see it on any day of the week:
Mature lady
At the gate of the temple
Stands with outstretched hand . Her life drama .
open wound
In the heart,
After all, she went through those
Who called her mom .
Monotonous days stretches gray scale.
Falls late, then gets up early.
Train . In the park , near the fountain ,
Where couples are circling in the rhythm of old Tango
smoothly
At the mall lovers
In the shadow of the old maple ,
Very old , very gray .
In the eyes of her whole life , all dreams.
From the windows of the old houses are visible
Narrow slits of eyes,
Squinting in the last time,
She sees a place
Where leave childhood.
Running away from the rain on the sidewalks wet
Clamped under his arm a volume of Nabokov.
Child , girl, woman ... Old age came quietly ,
While piers creaked in the wind.
Olga washes floors and marble walls ,
I am sure that her money ate system
Stalin recalled with tears ,
Sometimes it is darned jacket with medals.
" But now everything is sold as - is , money is donated to the children , all the plundered !" -
Yells Olga Petrovna .
In an empty room communal polulyudey spit on the floor.
Sergei dad hates .
He yells that it will relinquish his son to the orphanage , his wife Irina.
" Remember when I took you in the shit .
Now you are on my neck , your geek and your mother , old bitch . "
Serge stopped looking .
" It was not out of hell ?" - " No . "
No tears , just added a gray hair on the heads of old women ,
The hungry, the eternal widow , gray , nursing allowed on the weekends.