Peremen

Vmesto tepla — zelen' stekla,
Vmesto ognya — dym,
Iz setki kalendarya vykhvachen den'.
Krasnoye solntse sgorayet dotla,
Den' dogorayet s nim,
Na pylayushchiy gorod padayet ten'.

Peremen trebuyut nashi serdtsa.
Peremen trebuyut nashi glaza.
V nashem smekhe i v nashikh slezakh,
I v pul'satsii ven:
"Peremen! My zhdem peremen!"

Elektricheskiy svet prodolzhayet nash den',
I korobka ot spichek pusta,
No na kukhne sinim tsvetkom gorit gaz.
Sigarety v rukakh, chay na stole — eta skhema prosta,
I bol'she net nichego, vse nakhoditsya v nas.

Peremen trebuyut nashi serdtsa.
Peremen trebuyut nashi glaza.
V nashem smekhe i v nashikh slezakh,
I v pul'satsii ven:
"Peremen! My zhdem peremen!"

My ne mozhem pokhvastat'sya mudrost'yu glaz
I umelymi zhestami ruk,
Nam ne nuzhno vse eto, chtoby drug druga ponyat'.
Sigarety v rukakh, chay na stole — tak zamykayetsya krug,
I vdrug nam stanovitsya strashno chto-to menyat'.

Peremen trebuyut nashi serdtsa.
Peremen trebuyut nashi glaza.
V nashem smekhe i v nashikh slezakh,
I v pul'satsii ven:
"Peremen! My zhdem peremen!"