Текст песни Владимир Маяковский. - Любовь.

Peace
   again
        flowers overgrown,
the world
      spring view.
And again
       rises
             unresolved issue -
about women
          and about love.
We love the parade,
              elegant song.
We speak beautifully,
               going to the rally.
But often
        under this,
                 moldy,
an old-old bull.
Sings at the meeting:
                "Forward, comrades ... & quot;
And at home,
       forgetting the aria of the solo,
yelling at his wife,
             that soup is not in navar
So what
     cucumbers
           poorly salted.
Lives on the other -
               kiosk in breadth,
linen -
       the schwent diva.
But thin stocking
                reproaches his wife:
- You compromise
                 before the team.
That climb to any,
                 would have been with his feet.
Five women
        will change
                 during the day.
We, they say,
           freedom,
                   not monogamy.
Down with the philistinism
               and prejudice!
From flower to flower
                  young dragonfly
flutters,
        flies
              and rushes.
One
       in the world
             it seems evil -
this
   alimony.
He is happy to die,
saving a third,
three years
        To be judged:
and I'm supposed to be not me,
and it's not mine,
and I do
          castrate.
And love,
       so be
               nun faithful -
tyrannite
       jealousy
                every trifle
and measures
       love
             for caliber revolving,
incorrect
        to the back of the head
                 the bullet is empty.
Fourth -
          hero of a dozen battles,
but so,
      that love is expensive,
runs
     in fright
               from my wife's shoes,
simple shoes Mostorg.
And the other
        arrow of love
                    otherwise,
confuses
     - a child like that -
catching
         beloved
                in the Romanic networks
with increase
            subordinated to the tariff
                                   grid ...
By female line
too, you do not have heavenly tabernacles.
A simple little fellow
picked up
         lady.
It works,
           and its
               not hold in any way -
runs after a cloak
                each of the Boulevard.
Well,
      sit
          and in tears
                   Nil nilsya.
Look! -
     Groom!
"For whom, dearest, am I married?"
For myself -
         or for them? -
Parents
           and children of this sort:
"What about the parents?"
               And we
                   not worse, they say!
Are engaged
          love in the form of sport,
not having had time
        fit into the Komsomol.
And further,
         to the village,
                   life without movement -
live, as before,
                    year after year.
Here also
          get married
                       and marry,
how to buy
            working cattle.
If it will be
          last so
                     year after year,
then,
  I will tell you frankly,
fails
         take apart
                  and the marriage code,
where the father and daughter,
                who is a son and a mother.
I'm not for the family.
              On fire
                    and in the smoke blue
burnt out
      and this junk piece,
where hissed
          mother-goose
and children
       guarded
             - father-gander!
No.
    But we live in a commune
                        tight,
in hostels
            the skin of the bodies gets dirty.
It is necessary
    vote
         raise for cleanliness
our
               and love affairs.
Do not twist -
             they say, I'm not married.
Us
   not the priest fastens the taboo.
It is necessary
    tie
            and the life of men and women
in a word,
       us unifying:
                        & quot; Partners & quot ;.