tone_Am_DAY THINGS
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The piano was drowning in flowers, people were crying, and he, in fact, did not say anything:
He sang about how Our dreams dripped from the roof in the spring, awakening from sleep.
He did not seem to sing, but creaked like a forest, disturbed by a small blizzard,
He neither with pity for me, nor with blasphemy did not climb, And as if he talked with himself.
==== chorus =======
He sews non-festive things out of light sadness, Some simple, nondescript-looking,
And it seems that the throat of longing is about to overwhelm, And the hall will clap, and the heart will ache.
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And, indeed, then everything sighs, I remember again that I was alive,
And here the man gets drunk And does not want to return home.
He pours his sorrow, like iodine, on everyone's wounds And persistently calls to the station,
But, of course, in the morning he goes home And everything whispers: "How he correctly said!"
======= chorus =========
He sews non-festive things out of light sadness, In such, neither parades nor balls,
And you will not sing such songs in the crowd, But just keep silent and you will be right ..
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I fell for his spells Three times, but came back alive,
And I want to warn you in advance: He will deceive you at any cost.
==== chorus ========
Let the non-holiday things out of light sadness
He sews for the same unlucky eccentrics,
And let them let us go to easier shows,
Without these complicated songs and restless dreams ...
