If I only knew what the electricity was like.
I would make a step. I'd go out on the street.
I'd go to phone booth. I'd dial your number.
And I'd hear your voice,
your voice, your voice,
your voice, your voice,
your voice, your voice. . .
But I don't know how the signal goes.
I don't know the basics of communication.
I don't know who laid the cable.
'afraid I'll never see you again, again, again . . .
Phone number two-one-two-eight-five-o-six.
Phone number two-one-two-eight-five-o-six.
Phone number two-one-two-eight-five-o-six.
This is your number,
number, number, number, number,
number, number, number, number . . .
- what is it, Barrymore?
- its a dub, sir.
And I was hit and I was beaten in the bushes by the road.
And my skull was badly fractured seventeen times in the row.
Alas, this body isn't gonna live on Earth for too long.
This body isn't gonna live on Earth for too long.
You ask the rider in white saddle for how long.
This body isn't gonna live on Earth for too long.
Here is a woman who is tied to transportation bundle.
Here is a woman and the bald he-goat that she straddles.
Here is a woman looking on the glass alone.
This body isn't gonna live on Earth for long. . .
And there is 3, and there is 5.
And there are people with the captain inside.
And there are people with the legs of chrysolite.
And there are people with Bruce Lee between the thighs.
And there are people who always call you "sir".
And people with many heads - up to one hundred four.
And there are mysterious girls with magnetic eyes
And there are big passengers of tangerine grass.
And people who crack the cobalt alloy.
And there are people who have twenty chicken-toys.
Some are kinda alive and some are dead or kind of,
But nobody really knows your phone number.
Number kinda two-one-two-eight-five-o-a.
Number kinda two-one-two-eight-five-o-b.
Number kinda two-one-two-eight-five-o-c.
Number kinda two-one-two-eight-five-o-d.
Number kinda two-one-two-eight-five-o-e.
Number kinda two-one-two-eight-five-o-f.
Number kinda two-one-two-eight-five-o-g.
Number kinda two-one-two-eight-five-o-h.
Phone number two-one-two-eight-five-o-six.
Phone number two-one-two-eight-five-o-six.
Phone number two-one-two-eight-five-o-six.
That is your number,
number, number, number, number,
number, number, number, number . . .
Blanched leaves of the window
Are overgrown with clear water.
Water has no death, no bottom.
I'm saying goodbye to you.
A handful of warmth after long winter -
We'll keep safe. Five minutes till the morning -
We'll live. Our sea of guilt
Is devoured by the hole of time.
That is all that will remain after I'm gone,
That is all that I'm taking with me.
Memory sits by the table with us,
In her hand is a candle's flame.
You were so sweet,
Look at me, don't be silent.
A seagull's cries against a white wall
Are encircled by a black moon.
Paint something on the window
And whisper something river-like for a farewell.
That is all that will remain after I'm gone,
That is all that I'm taking with me.
Two dreams and a glass of sorrow
We, when revived, drank in full.
I don't know why I was given to you.
I am ruled by the moon-road.
Don't you cry, if you can - forgive.
Life - isn't sugar, and death - isn't tea.
I must carry my own road.
So long, friend, and goodbye!
That is all that will remain after I'm gone,
That is all that I'm taking with me.
That is all...
The last honest songs are all left in the summer,
We gaze at the end of the life we've been living,
With fire and shadows replacing each other,
The last autumn knows!
The last autumn knows!
A wild autumn wind is incoming and breaking
The chains we've been in at the dry dusty midnight,
All things that were pressing and playing, and faking
Are blown away through the opened window,
The last autumn knows!
The last autumn knows!
Ah, Alexander Sergeyevich, dear,
Why didn't you leave us another true poem
With searching and hopes, your love and your fear,
With all that you knew in the end of last autumn,
The last autumn knows!
The last autumn knows!
An old hungry sea has so easily taken
The tired grey sun, and behind the high clouds
You'll never remember, you'll never awaken,
You won't touch the grass through invisible bounds.
The last autumn orders the poets to follow,
There's no return, no way outside it,
We're left on our own with rainy tomorrow,
We're here with love and the stones revived,
theartofmadeline
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
yousharknotpass
areudirty
prguitarman
discoholicmusic
stormborns
ellievsbear
