Текст песни Игорь Тальков - Памяти Виктора Цоя

Poets are not born by chance,
They fly to the Earth from a height,
Their life is surrounded by a profound mystery,
Although they are open and simple.

The eyes of the divine messengers
Always sad and true dream,
And in the chaos of the problems of their souls the eternal light
Worlds that are lost in the dark.

They go, completing quests,
They recall the higher worlds,
Unknown to our consciousness,
Under the rules of the game space.

They leave no Dopiewo verse,
When in their honor orchestra plays a flourish -
Actors, musicians and poets -
Healers are tired of our souls.

In the forests of bird songs was finishing,
In the fields for their flowers wreaths sovyut,
They go away, but never die,
And in the songs and poems of his live.

And maybe today or tomorrow
I'll go and mysterious messenger
Wherever gone, he passed away suddenly
Poet and composer Viktor Tsoi.