Текст песни Алина Кудряшова - мама на даче, ключ на столе...

Mom in the country , the key on the table , the breakfast can not do. Soon vacation eight years in August, will be nine. In August, nine , seven on the clock , sky light and flat , the sun left in the hair faded stripes . Sleepy piece of palm pinch , and miss out through his fingers. Vic from the tenth floor again calling for a swim. We must hurry with all legs and eyes - suddenly run away , leave . Victor finished the fourth grade - that is almost old . Shorts with a t-shirt - a simple outfit , apple take afternoon tea. Vic teach me to dive, he promised , I remember. To assume the river road , burned and familiar . Dusty feet are like my mother's gloves . Today we have this heat - the leaves just like rags . Perhaps we could then play , I ask , that hide and seek. Vic - he is kind , one in a boy of Jules Verne. I'll have to let me drive, I am allowed to , I guess. The evening will begin , should darken . Day until the end of the week. I turn to the wall. One hundred and ninety -nine.

Mom in the country. Bicycle. Tomorrow to take the exam . Abstract sun licks soft eyes . Morning meet and sit up all night , waiting for the summer. In August, I will have a student now - neither this nor that . Polucherstvy bread and cheese with a knife , breakfast with sleep nevkusen . Vic from the tenth floor now in the third year . Knows all smart professors, writes programs in the company . Hood, ironic and Chernobrov directly hero of the film. Wrote the note to my sister , gives flowers to pay , except that I swim faster and compose better. Just a little sister is pure face , I harder and meaner , we climb onto the porch and run a snake. It seems they leave for the night , I'll take the train. River rustling , rustling at his feet , now it on the belt. Seventy-eight , seventy -seven, pay back to the composition . Let them hide , well, all of them , I will not look for them .

Mom in the country. Baska buzzing. Sleepy inaction . The cat sat on his chest , the sun on a blanket . Cups her hands and sweaters , coffee, pray , cook . Somebody saw me yesterday? Better not say. Let this be a big secret little debauchery , one was drunk, weightless , warmed , the warm breath of his brother , his throat hoarse from chatter ashes flew from the balcony, all with one another - and all the ones still alive and disobedient . If we tabernacle ruble , breakfast comes to our house , O Lord, how I love you all , rainbow on the palms . A street in the sun lace, Vic , wash the plates . You can lie and revive. You can go to the river . I 'll catch you and will conquer , will make a haircut , shave. A broken nose in the cortex. Thirty-four, thirty ...

Mom on the pictures . Keys in the lock. Eight hours before the summer. The sun on the walls, on a backpack , in an old sandals . Sleepy paws through the park, and can not escape. Vic in America. I am in Moscow . River in early childhood . Apple ate , went up, somewhere is going to Nice, I start counting with one hundred , my life - with one. We fight , we cry with her in unison , clowns in the arena . & quot; Twenty-one & quot ;, - mumbling in his sleep . & quot; Forty & quot ;, - laughing time. Forty - and the first gray hair , forty-one - to the hospital. Twenty-one - I live alone , twenty : the eye - slits , legs scratched , lusty thoughts running squatting , someone is waiting for me in the yard, someone - on the tenth . Ten - finish fourth grade , breakfast can not do. We must hurry with all legs and eyes. In August there will be nine. Eight - in the neck to carry keys , sunny thaw hymn ...