Текст песни Белая гвардия - Ключ из пепла

He's an ordinary guy.
He goes from work
In the faceless streets,
He plays roulette,
He drinks beer on the corner,
Ill for Dynamo,
Shoots at targets
Very rarely, but aptly.

He does not have a hearing,
He listened to the rubbish.
He has a piece of time
In a cooled glass.
In a dream it is easy
He speaks Sanskrit.
He has a key from the ashes
On a silver thread.

He has a key from the ashes:
He does not open anything
Also does not approach, probably,
To no lock.
He is on a silver thread,
And this thread shines so,
At least in a burning hut,
What a horse to ride!

He does not read newspapers,
Do not read novels.
He walks down an alley,
Hands in pockets.
He is the same as everyone else.
Sometimes he dreams
About that never
And it does not happen to anyone.

And at the peak of dreams
The Hand of James Bond
He will open a letter
From the pension fund.
He will return from the war
An unknown soldier,
In the orders and medals,
Fabulously rich.

After all, he has a key from the ashes ...

He was born and grew up
In these glorious latitudes,
Where in the empty soup
Add spicy,
Where are sitting between the chairs,
Where they spit in their well,
Where to push the porch
His own Mother of God,

Where in the cooled glasses
Fragments of sadness,
Where wine is escorted
And they meet salt,
Where there is a double entry
In a hateful river,
Where in every village
And Golgotha, and Mecca.

But he has a key from the ashes ...

Someone has a passport
With Moscow residence permit.
Someone has an island
In the blue ocean.
Someone has space
Behind the broken window.
And someone
There is a doll in your pocket.

And he has a key from the ashes
On a silver thread.
He does not read newspapers,
He dreams in Sanskrit.
And today I stood
At the microphone and sang
To one who walks on the edge.
And he has a key from the ashes.