Текст песни Krec feat.Smoki Mo - Ольга

In these eyes her whole life , all the dreams .
From the windows of old houses can be seen
Narrow slits of eyes,
Squinting , the last time
She sees a place
Where leave childhood.
Running from the rain on wet sidewalks ,
Holding under his arm a volume of Nabokov.
Child , girl, woman ... Old age came quickly,
While Piers creaked in the wind.
" Breaks the old cough, delight in a dream , and only " -
I groaned widow Olga .
She is not lovely weather . In a dusty , musty room, knocked on the wall :
"Where are you calling from? "
" I saw God , I saw blood on his hands " -
I whispered to the old lady 's coat .
Bequeathed grandchildren apartment -
Newlyweds added potassium cyanide in carafes .
It smells of ginger and dreams
Spring melts before our eyes -
And now autumn places.
Too thin walls, too little light .
So many years have passed . We shadow of these years.
Lashes - this heart pounding .
And that tune , whisper bystanders.
Rustling warm plate
And there is no more of 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 this pain killing something like a 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, I repeat , do not try and play with it .
Remember last time? Will 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 your palm :
She tells us the story of past years .
Melts year , followed by another .
No one is indispensable . No one is indispensable .
In these eyes her whole life , all the dreams .
From the windows of old houses can be seen
Narrow slits of eyes,
Squinting in the last time,
She sees a place
Where leave childhood.
Running from the rain on wet sidewalks ,
Holding under his arm a volume of Nabokov.
Child , girl, woman ... Old age came quickly,
While Piers creaked in the wind.
Wednesday . Eight in the morning . All rise for work or study .
They all have jobs ,
As soon as she
Despite the pain in the body,
Gets out of bed ,
Barely moving ,
Goes into the tunnels or the church.
There you can see it in any day of the week :
Mature lady
At the gates of the temple
Stands with outstretched hand. Her life drama .
open wound
In the heart,
After she went through those
Who called her mom .
Monotonous days stretches gray scale .
Falls late, then get up early .
Train. In the park , near the fountain ,
Where couples are circling in the rhythm of the old tango
smoothly
Lovers in the alley
In the shade of the old maple
Quite old , quite gray .
In these eyes her whole life , all the dreams .
From the windows of old houses can be seen
Narrow slits of eyes,
Squinting in the last time,
She sees a place
Where leave childhood.
Running from the rain on wet sidewalks ,
Holding under his arm a volume of Nabokov.
Child , girl, woman ... Old age came quickly,
While Piers creaked in the wind.
Olga Petrovna washes floors and marble walls ,
I'm sure that her money ate system
Stalin recalls with tears ,
Sometimes wears patched jacket with medals.
"But now everything is sold somehow , money donated to the children , all looted " -
Screams Olga Petrovna .
In the empty rooms communal polulyudey spit on the floor.
Sergei hates dad.
He shouts that his son surrender to the shelter , his wife Irina.
" Remember when I took you in the shit .
Now you're on my neck , your geek and your mother , old bitch . "
Serge stopped looking .
"From this hell could I do ? " - " None . "
No tears , just been added gray hair on the heads of old women
Hungry , eternal widows, gray , nursing allowed on the weekends.