Electric dog (BG)
Long memory is worse than syphilis,
Especially in a narrow circle.
Such bacchanalia of memories
Not to wish and for enemy.
And young man growing old in search of a kaif
Cherishes in pupils of his eyes the
eternal question,
And pours on wine, and whence sideways
With the sighting attention looks electric dog.
And we carry our watch in the smoke-filled kitchen,
In hats of feathers and shorts from lead,
And if someone died from suffocation,
Then detachment didn't notice the loss of a soldier.
And unity of ranks there is evidence of
friendship –
Or of fear to make its own step.
And over the kitchen-castle sublimely hovers flag –
It's similar to swimming trunks, and smells mould.
And each have here a favorite method
To set in motion the shining dust.
Guitarists cherish their photographs,
And poets catch a kaif on others pop
numbers.
But themselves long ago ring up only to each other,
Discussing how beautiful is our circle.
And this dog gnaws getting deeper into walls,
In the eternal search of new and gentle hands.
But women – those that could be like sisters,
They paint with poison the work plane of nails,
And in all that is moving they see women rivals,
Although they claim that they see whores.
And from such displays of love for its fellowmen
I begin to fear for reasoning power and temper.
But this dog is not alien to the
paradoxes:
He is in love with these women,
And from his point of view he is right.
Because others here don't inspire
Nor on life, nor on death, nor on several lines;
And one with amazement looks to the West,
And the other with delight looks to the East.
And each already ten years teaches roles,
About which ten years as it's worth to forget.
And this dog is laughing at us:
He's not busy question, how and what for him to be.
This song has no end and beginning,
But here epigraph – few phrases:
We grew up in the field of such tension,
Where any device burns out on time.
And, logically thinking, this dog is impossible –
But he's alive how it never dreamed us, wise men.
And friends will ask me: "Of whom is this
song?"
And I'll answer
cryptically: "Ah, if I knew it myself..."
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