Ключ из пепла

He is an ordinary guy.
He goes to work
By faceless streets
Playing roulette
Drinking beer on the corner,
Fan of "Dynamo"
Shooting at targets
Very rarely , but neatly .

He has no hearing
He heard enough stuff .
He Shard time
In the chilled glass.
In the dream, he easily
Speaks Sanskrit.
He has the key from the ashes
On a silver thread.

He has the key from the ashes :
He did not open
And not suitable , perhaps,
To any castle.
He's on the silver thread
And so this thread shines
That even in the burning house ,
That at least a galloping horse !

He does not read newspapers ,
Do not read novels.
He goes down the lane ,
Hands in his pockets .
He's just like everyone else.
Sometimes he dreams
That never
And with no one there.

And at the peak of dreams
Hand of James Bond
It will open a letter
From the pension fund .
He returns from the war
Unknown soldier
In the awards and medals ,
Fabulously rich.

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

He was born and raised
In these glorious latitudes
Where in the empty soup
Added sharpness ,
Where to sit between the chairs,
Where they spit in his well ,
Where pushed onto the porch
His Virgin,

Where in the cooled glasses
Shards of sorrow,
Where wine escort
And meet salt ,
Where come twice
In hateful river
Where in each village
And Calvary and Mecca .

But he has the key from the ashes ...

Does anyone have a passport
From Moscow residence permit .
Someone has an island
In the blue ocean.
Someone has space
For the broken pane .
And someone
There is a doll in his pocket.

And he has the key from the ashes
On a silver thread.
He does not read newspapers ,
He dreams in Sanskrit.
And today I was
At the microphone and sang
The one who goes over the edge.
And he has the key from the ashes.