Текст песни Антон Яржомбек - Так, карандаша не выбирая

So, without choosing a pencil,
It makes no sense applied strokes.
So at dusk smokes edge of the barn,
Transforming the past into poetry.

But you is that memory does not become,
But you're still alive in the unconscious - yet.
While in the eyes of the noise of swirls station:
Since inward gaze from afar.

Where we do not have - it becomes good,
Where without us - someone well.
So at dusk thistle flowers
All night long at the head of the soul.

And I love the creature dumb
I aspire for the train on the bridge,
It is not an inclined and vertical
Flowers ripping verses on the fly.

And wordlessly, in a pose ugly
So I stand motionless in the twilight,
What comes up a kerosene lamp
Moon. And just think, that the South.

1993