On idet uzhe dvadtsat' piat' let, On idet prosto tak, v nikuda Ne imeia voprosa, on ne ishchet otvet, Esli veter - to sneg, esli dozhd' - to voda On idet ot sebia, vozvrashchaias' k sebe, Kak budto kuda-to spesha I vse ego sny s interesom k vesne Spressovany v gramm gashisha