Давай мне песню западную, глубокую, хорошую, душевную.
15:02 15.09.2016
2004fly2004
> видимо, вы английский не знаете
ржевский опять заблудился слегонца- он считает что за поэзию, а не за музыку сча речь идет...
а когда речь за поэзию пойдет, он точняк про баха с моцартом понесет, это к гадалке не ходи, ибо крутой замес у ржевского в башке походу устроен, что пушкин, что хворостовский, что битлз- всё едино..
уверен, что пикассо с дали у ржевского где то на подходе.....
15:03 15.09.2016
эмммм... все давать?:) вы смеетесь? Ржевский (rubintt) писал(а) в ответ на :
> ржевский опять заблудился слегонца- он считает что за поэзию, а не за музыку сча речь идет... > > а когда речь за поэзию пойдет, он точняк про баха с моцартом понесет, это к гадалке не ходи...
да бери любую из последних найтвиш, да переводи... аватар еще неплохо тексты выдает, вот первое что еболаше в башку пришло...
15:14 15.09.2016
вот из найтвиш, вполне такая философская лирика...
I see a slow, simple youngster by a busy street, A begging bowl in his shaking hand. Trying to smile but hurting infinitely. Nobody notices. I do, but walk by.
An old man gets naked and kisses a model-doll in his attic It's half-light and he's in tears. When he finally comes his eyes are cascading.
I see a beaten dog in a pungent alley. He tries to bite me. All pride has left his wild, drooling eyes. I wish I had my leg to spare.
A mother visits her son, smiles to him through the bars. She's never loved him more.
An obese girl enters an elevator with me. All dressed up fancy, a green butterfly on her neck. Terribly sweet perfume deafens me. She's going to dinner, alone. That makes her even more beautiful.
I see a model's face on a brick wall. A statue of porcelain perfection beside a violent city kill. A city that worships flesh.
The first thing I ever heard, was a wandering man telling his story It was you, the grass under my bare feet The campfire in the dead of night The heavenly black of sky and sea
It was us, Roaming the rainy roads, combing the gilded beaches Waking up to a new gallery of wonders every morn Bathing in places no one's seen before Shipwrecked on some matt-painted island Clad in nothing but the surf - beauty's finest robe
Beyond all mortality we are, swinging in the breath of nature In early air of the dawn of life A sight to silence the heavens
I want to travel where life travels, following its permanent lead Where the air tastes like snow music Where grass smells like fresh-born Eden I would pass no man, no stranger, no tragedy or rapture I would bathe in a world of sensation Love, goodness and simplicity (While violated and imprisoned by technology)
The thought of my family's graves was the only moment I used to experience true love That love remains infinite, as I'll never be the man my father is
How can you "just be yourself" when you don't know who you are? Stop saying "I know how you feel" How could anyone know how another feels?
Who am I to judge a priest, beggar, whore, politician, wrongdoer? I am, you are, all of them already
Dear child, stop working, go play Forget every rule There's no fear in a dream
"Is there a village inside this snowflake?" - a child asked me "What's the colour of our lullaby?"
I've never been so close to truth as then I touched its silver lining
Death is the winner in any war Nothing noble in dying for your religion For your country For ideology, for faith For another man, Yes
Paper is dead without words Ink idle without a poem All the world dead without stories Without love and disarming beauty
Careless realism costs souls
Ever seen the Lord smile? All the care for the world made Beautiful a sad man? Why do we still carry a device of torture around our necks? Oh, how rotten your pre-apocalypse is All you bible-black fools living over nightmare ground
I see all those empty cradles and wonder If man will ever change
I, too, wish to be a decent man-boy but all I am Is smoke and mirrors Still given everything, may I be deserving
And there forever remains the change from G to E-Minor
15:19 15.09.2016
We have fed our sea for a thousand years And she calls us, still unfed, Though there's never a wave of all her waves But marks our English dead: We have strawed our best to the weed's unrest, To the shark and the sheering gull. If blood be the price of admiralty, Lord God, we ha' paid in full!
There's never a flood goes shoreward now But lifts a keel we manned; There's never an ebb goes seaward now But drops our dead on the sand -- But slinks our dead on the sands forlore, From the Ducies to the Swin. If blood be the price of admiralty, If blood be the price of admiralty, Lord God, we ha' paid it in!
We must feed our sea for a thousand years, For that is our doom and pride, As it was when they sailed with the ~Golden Hind~, Or the wreck that struck last tide -- Or the wreck that lies on the spouting reef Where the ghastly blue-lights flare. If blood be the price of admiralty, If blood be the price of admiralty, If blood be the price of admiralty, Lord God, we ha' bought it fair!
