Mne pridetsya otpolzat'...
Ot ob®yavlen'ya vojny - na vse chetyre struny,
Ot uzkoloboj vesny - vo vse chetyre steny,
Ot podgorevshej edy - za vse chetyre bedy,
Ot pokoleniya zla v chetyre chernyh chisla.
Nakinut' staryj mundir, protertyj kem-to do dyr...
Mne pridetsya obojtis'...
Bez sinih sumrachnyh ptic, bez raznosherstnyh resnic.
Da perepravit' s utra chto ne slozhilos' vchera,
Ostavit' gryaznyj vagon i prodolzhat' peregon
Po neostyvshej zole na samodel'noj metle.
Raskinut' ruki vo sne, chtob ne zapnut'sya vo t'me...
Mne pridetsya promenyat'...
Ostochertevshij obryad na smertonosnyj snaryad,
Skripuchij stul za stolom na detskij krik za uglom,
Venok iz sputannyh roz na depressivnyj psihoz,
Psihodelicheskij raj na tri zasova v saraj.
Mne vse krichat: "beregis'..."
A strong comment here is specific: the phrase you keep hearing, the mood you come back for, or the reason this song stays in rotation.
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