Текст песни Булат Окуджава - Музыкант играл на скрипке

Musician playing the violin, I looked into his eyes,
I'm not so curious - I was flying through the sky.
I'm not that out of boredom, I was hoping to see
As these hands are able to extract these sounds

From some of wood, from some pale veins,
From some kind of fantasy, which he served.
And in fact it is necessary for us to penetrate the soul and ignite.
Why stand on ceremony with her, which it protected.

Happy is the house where the singing violin guides us on the path.
And it gives us hope; the rest - somehow.
Happy tool pressed against the angular shoulders,
By whose blessing I'm flying through the sky.

Happy is the one whose path is short, the fingers are angry, sharp bow,
Musician, built a fire of my soul.
And the soul, that's for sure, if burned,
Just, righteous and merciful it.