Текст песни Нервы - 04. Софи Марсо
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Меланхолия октябрьского вечера. Я лист бумаги сложенный вчетверо. Косой дождь, я намокаю слева. Сопливая погода мой город съела. Память выдает красивые моменты - Отрывки из французской киноленты, Короткий сюжет сумбурного романа. Софи Марсо мне улыбается с экрана. История любви показана красиво, Но это - Франция, а я живу в России, По улице шагаю, огибая лужи, В кафе поужинать, а в голове француженка. Мы чем – то похожи, ничего странного- Но между нами города и страны, Мои женщины, ее мужчины, Виллы, яхты, белые лимузины, А я дальше по лужам вперед полквартала. За шиворот капает, этого не хватало! Напротив кафе меня огнями манит, Зайду обязательно, хуже не станет. Свободный столик, квадрат телевизора, Водка и сок, свои плюсы и минусы. И снова Франция и Россия. Футбол. Мы меряемся силами. Представляю Париж, апрель или март, Нашу встречу предсказали карты. Это могло бы сбыться, без дураков, Если бы я был Никита Михалков, Говорил по-французски, жил в Ницце Или в Праге, в общем, за границей. На землю опять вернула милиция. Пьеса окончена. Действующие лица. Красота - страшная сила В умелых руках. Она меня убила. Спелая ягода из Парижа. Мне нравится то, что я вижу. Я снова смотрю кино интересное. Устал и растворился в кресле. За окном дождь, ночь – 12 часов. Меня греет плед, а не Софи Марсо. Жаль! *** The melancholy of an October evening. I'm a sheet of paper folded into four. Slanting rain, I намокаю on the left. Some weather my city ate. Memory shows the beautiful moments - Excerpts from French movies, A short story short novel. Sophie Marceau smiling at me from the screen. Love story shows nice, But this is France, and I live in Russia, On the street walking, dodging puddles, In the cafe for dinner, as head of French. We have something similar, there's nothing strange But between us cities and countries, My women, the men, Villas, yachts, white limousines, And I went through the puddles forward half a block. The collar of his shirt dripping, this is not enough! Opposite the cafe my lights beckoning, 'll definitely, it won't get better. Free table, the square of the TV, Vodka and juice, its pros and cons. And again France and Russia. Football. We меряемся forces. Imagine Paris, April or March, Our meeting predicted card. This could come true, no lie, If I was Nikita Mikhalkov, Spoke French, lived in nice Or in Prague, in General, abroad. On the ground again returned police. The play is over. The actors. Beauty is a great power In the capable hands. She I was killed. Ripe berry from Paris. I like what I see. I look back movie interesting. Tired and faded into the chair. Outside the rain, the night - 12 hours. My warm blanket, and not Sophie Marceau. Sorry! Смотрите также:Все тексты Нервы >>> |
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Melancholy of the October evening.
I am a sheet of paper folded fourly.
Skit rain, I wet on the left.
Holiday Weather My city ate.
Memory issues beautiful moments -
Excerpts from the French film
Short plot of a messy novel.
Sophie Marso smiles at the screen.
Love history is shown beautifully
But it is France, and I live in Russia,
Walking down the street, Ohibayi puddles,
In the cafe dinner, and in the head Frenchwoman.
We are something similar, nothing strange
But between us cities and countries,
My women, her men,
Villas, yachts, white limousines,
And I'm on the puddles ahead half aftal.
For the collar dripping, it lacked!
Opposite the cafe of me lights
I will be sure to make it worse.
Free Table, TV Square,
Vodka and juice, their pros and cons.
And again France and Russia.
Football. We are measured by the forces.
Introducing Paris, April or March,
Our meeting predicted cards.
It might come true, without fools,
If I were Nikita Mikhalkov,
Spoke French, lived in Nice
Or in Prague, in general, abroad.
Militia returned to Earth again.
Piece is over. Characters.
Beauty - terrible power
In skillful hands. She killed me.
Ripe berry from Paris.
I like what I see.
I watch the movie in an interesting movie again.
Tired and dissolved in the chair.
Behind the window Rain, night - 12 hours.
I warm my plaid, and not Sophie Marso.
Sorry!
***
The Melancholy of An OCTOBER EVENING.
I'm a Sheet of Paper Folded Into Four.
Slanting Rain, I wet on the left.
Some Weather My City Ate.
Memory SHOWS THE BEATIFUL MOMENTS -
Excerpts from FRENCH MOVIES,
A Short Story Short Novel.
Sophie Marceau Smiling At Me From The Screen.
Love Story Shows Nice,
But This Is France, and I Live in Russia,
On the Street Walking, Dodging Puddles,
In The Cafe for Dinner, As Head of FRENCH.
We Have Something Similar, There's Nothing Strange
But Between US Cities and Countries
My Women, The Men,
Villas, Yachts, White Limousines,
And I Went Through The Puddles Forward Half A Block.
The Collar of His Shirt Dripping, This Is Not Enough!
Opposite The Cafe My Lights Beckoning,
'LL Definitely, It Won't Get Better.
FREE TABLE, THE SQUARE OF THE TV,
Vodka and Juice, Its Pros and Cons.
AND AGAIN FRANCE AND RUSSIA.
Football. We measure Forces.
Imagine Paris, April or March,
OUR MEETING PREDICTED CARD.
This Could Come True, No Lie,
If I Was Nikita Mikhalkov,
SPOKE FRENCH, LED IN NICE
Or in prague, in general, abroad.
On The Ground Again Returned Police.
The Play Is Over. The Actors.
Beauty Is a Great Power
In The Capable Hands. She I Was Killed.
RIPE BERRY FROM PARIS.
I Like What I See.
I Look Back Movie Interesting.
Tired and Faded Into The Chair.
OUTSIDE THE RAIN, THE NIGHT - 12 Hours.
My Warm Blanket, and Not Sophie Marceau.
Sorry!
