Текст песни Евг. Евтушенко - Облако в штанах. Часть 3

Ah why this
where does it come from
in bright fun
dirty fist swings!

Came
and curtained my head in despair
the thought of crazy houses.

And -
like the death of a dreadnought
from choking spasm
rush into the open hatch -
through your
screaming torn eye
climbed, mad, Burliuk.
Almost bleeding my lids
got out
got up,
went
and with tenderness unexpected in a fat man
took and said:
"Good!"
Well, when in a yellow sweater
the soul is wrapped up from examinations!
Good,
when thrown into the teeth of the scaffold,
shout out:
"Drink Van Guten Cocoa!"

And this second
Bengali
loud
I wouldn’t bargain for anything
I'm not on ...

And from cigar smoke
liquor glass
the drunken face of the Northerner stretched out.
How dare you be called a poet
and, little gray, tweet like a quail!
Today
need to
brass knuckles
fit the world in the skull!

You,
worried by one thought -
"whether I dance gracefully,"
watch me having fun
I am -
areal
pimp and card cheater.
From you,
who are wet with love
from which
in centuries, a tear was pouring,
I will leave
sun monocle
I’ll put it in my wide-spread eye.

Dressing yourself incredibly
I will walk on the ground
to like and burn
and ahead
on the chain of Napoleon I will lead, like a pug.
The whole earth is like a woman
he fidgets with meat, although to surrender;
things come to life -
lips things
squeak:
"swell, swell, swell!"

All of a sudden
and clouds
and cloud stuff
lifted an incredible pitch in the sky,
as if white workers were diverging,
announcing an embittered strike to the sky.
Thunder from behind the clouds, the beast crawled out,
huge nostrils fervently blowing your nose,
and non-face twisted for a second
the grimace of iron Bismarck.
And someone
entangled in cloudy bonds
extended his arms to the cafe -
and as if feminine
and tender as if
and like gun mounts.

You think -
this sun is tender
pats on the cheek of a cafe?
This is again to shoot the rebels
Coming General Halif!

Take out your walking hands from your trousers -
take a stone, knife or bomb,
and if he has no hands -
I came to beat my forehead!
Go hungry
sweaty
humbly
soured in a flea dirty gryazhenka!
Go!
Mondays and Tuesdays
paint with blood on holidays!
Let the earth under the knives be remembered,
whom I wanted to vulgarize!

The earth
as fat as a lover
which Rothschild loved!
So that the flags fluttered in a fever of fire
like every decent holiday -
uplift, lampposts,
bloody carcasses of meadowsweet trees.

Cursed
begging
cut
climbed after someone
bite into the sides.

In the sky, red as Marseillaise,
startled, rounding, sunset.

Already crazy.

Nothing will happen.

The night will come
have a bite
and eat.
See -
heaven is judging again
a handful of stars nibbled by betrayal?

I came.
Feasting on Mamai
backwards on a seeding city.
We don’t break this night with our eyes
as black as Azef!

Huddling, throwing himself in the tavern corners,
pouring wine over my soul and a tablecloth
and see:
in the corner - eyes are round, -
with our eyes the Mother of God was consumed.
What to bestow on a painted template
shining innkeeping horde!
You see - again
spoiled calvary
prefer Barabbas?
Maybe on purpose I
in a human mess
face no newer.
I AM,
may be,
the most beautiful
of all your sons.
Give them
moldy in joy
soon death of time
so that children who need to grow up become
boys are fathers
the girls became pregnant.
And let the new born grow
the inquisitive gray-haired magi,
and they will come -
and they will baptize children
the names of my poems.

I singing car and England
maybe just
in the most ordinary gospel
the thirteenth apostle.
And when my voice
howling obscenely -
from hour to hour
the whole day,
maybe jesus christ sniffing
my soul forget-me-nots.