Тим Скоренко - По мотивам Грасса - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

On the day when the trumpet howls with a nervous call, the stars hide, and the guns are uncovered, little Oscar takes a tin drum with a bright pattern, like the stripes of a top. The days of ostentatious truces are long numbered, rooks fly away to distant lands from bullets, little Oscar does not know the reason for the war, little Oscar knocks, and knocks, and knocks. The windows are tightly locked, the shelves are outside, the horses are clattering, the soldiers are singing in unison, the gloomy mother looks out from under her right hand, crumpling her worn blouse with her left. The divisional commander silently opens his resolute mouth, the horns rise in unison, whistling faintly. Oscar knocks, setting the rhythmic pace for all the military units occupying the city. Oscar knocks, replacing the clatter of hooves, the rumble of the orchestra, the tap dance of cocked triggers, angry shouts and the roar of midnight gunfire, the ringing of crystal wreaths sprayed by the butt of a gun, the crying of straw widows seeing off their spouses, the groans of those ready to get used to pine coffins, the rustle of paper under the feathers of local moles. The drum can sing anything.

You know, freedom is inside, this is the main point, in a gloomy prison, in a heavy system of chains. Those who are on the chopping block, on the rack, nailed to the wheel, are much freer than a gray plebeian in a suit. This is the freedom to speak, because - I don't care. This is the freedom to spit, because - it's the end. This is the freedom to mold what is customary to tear, this is the freedom to easily and brightly Satanize. This is the freedom to command an auto-da-fé, feeling the cutting brushwood under your toes, this is a special effect that has not yet been studied, too dangerous to practice even in the cinema. Those who huddle in apartments cannot understand those who beat the drums and blow the trumpets; those who enter the cost of oil in a notebook will hardly understand those who have taken their hearts out of their chests. In the dark time, when the moles are grounded, those who are free will raise their flag on the Reichstag, having fulfilled a small norm of a great dream, then suddenly standing under the main symbols. Caps will fly up under the shadow of the commanding hand, the draw tables will be bursting with food. Those who are free will immediately form the shelves and will definitely remove the covers from the guns. Thus the time of frowning foreheads, the time of cold commands and cold minds is formed, somewhere God, frightened by the roar, hides, because he could not even moderate freedom. Enemies walk rhythmically through foreign cities, a terrible iron dragon winds through the streets. Little Oscar knocks on a tin drum, clearly dictating the drum law to the enemies. Oscar is freer than anyone then and now, if you hear his drumming - sit and be silent. Oscar does not know who will enter his door.

Oscar knocks, and knocks, and knocks, and knocks,

and knocks

and knocks

and knocks