| Life of wonderful people
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| Nothing more wonderful
|
| own life, or days,
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| Memorable to ourselves, and nothing more.
|
| And wherever it falls to us to live,
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| In a sleepy flight weightless
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| We are meant to soar
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| Over our city and home,
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| Where we know all the neighbors
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| And along the street next door
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| We are riding a bicycle for the first time,
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| And we drink kvass by the yellow barrel.
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| Where are the secrets from the candy wrappers,
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| May Day portraits,
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| Lenin and Stalin's precepts,
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| They cannot be deceived yet.
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| Far from school hardships,
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| Red ties and banners
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| Only from elderberry and wolfberries
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| Sometimes not a very important chair.
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| Maybug and Colorado,
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| And the fox costume is stupid,
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| And our hockey is stronger than Canadian,
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| And in general... In general, in general, in general!
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| Life of wonderful people
|
| Our home and neighborhood
|
| Resulted like all
|
| This country is undivided.
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| Strictly watched Marat Kazei,
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| How we drank cocoa
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| In the light of decisions and ideas,
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| In the world of Dzhulbars and jump ropes.
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| With the book "Robinson Crusoe",
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| And with boiled corn,
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| Under the vinyl is still Caruso,
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| And under a hissing gramophone.
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| The smell of Christmas trees and carbide,
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| Neither Jesus nor David
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| Only skyscrapers of Moscow State University and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs
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| On color postcards from Moscow.
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| There was a theater at the microphone,
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| And a machine with cologne,
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| TV at someone's house
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| There was one, and we all went to him.
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| Life of wonderful people
|
| Hidden from our eyes
|
| Long fence camps
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| And with dumbness who understood everything.
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| From us, who have never seen a war,
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| From those who have not heard, except for "Zorka"
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| In the morning for schoolchildren of the country,
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| Some bitter revelations.
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| Pure ether from cataclysms,
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| And 20 years before communism,
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| But for a young body
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| There are also GTO norms.
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| And "Aurora" on the coin,
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| And smoking in the toilet
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| And the lucky number on the blue ticket,
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| And Natalia Varley.
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| Life of wonderful people
|
| From unpretentious coloring
|
| Until our damned days,
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| She is only our own.
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| And no matter how much they fall on the snow,
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| And no matter how strained the veins,
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| It's already the 21st century
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| And, thank God, we are alive. |