℗ 1974 Мелодия С62 04955-56
Миньон фирмы «Мелодия». |
(П. Саймон)
A winter's day In a deep and dark December; I am alone, Gazing from my window to the streets below On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow. I am a rock, I am an island. I've built walls, A fortress deep and mighty, That none may penetrate. I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain. It's laughter and it's loving I disdain. I am a rock, I am an island. Don't talk of love, But I've heard the words before; It's sleeping in my memory. I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died. If I never loved I never would have cried. I am a rock, I am an island. I have my books And my poetry to protect me; I am shielded in my armor, Hiding in my room, safe within my womb. I touch no one and no one touches me. I am a rock, I am an island. And a rock feels no pain; And an island never cries.
(П. Саймон)
I'm sittin' in the railway station Got a ticket for my destination, mm On a tour of one-night stands My suitcase and guitar in hand And every stop is neatly planned For a poet and a one-man band Homeward bound I wish I was Homeward bound Home, where my thought's escapin' Home, where my music's playin' Home, where my love lies waitin' silently for me Every day's an endless stream Of cigarettes and magazines, mm And each town looks the same to me The movies and the factories And every stranger's face I see Reminds me that I long to be Homeward bound I wish I was Homeward bound Home, where my thought's escapin' Home, where my music's playin' Home, where my love lies waitin' silently for me Tonight I'll sing my songs again I'll play the game and pretend, mm-mm But all my words come back to me In shades of mediocrity Like emptiness in harmony I need someone to comfort me Homeward bound I wish I was Homeward bound Home, where my thought's escapin' Home, where my music's playin' Home, where my love lies waitin' silently for me Silently for me
(П. Саймон)
I am just a poor boy Though my story's seldom told I have squandered my resistance For a pocketful of mumbles Such are promises All lies and jest Still, a man hears what he wants to hear And disregards the rest When I left my home and my family I was no more than a boy In the company of strangers In the quiet of the railway station Running scared Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters Where the ragged people go Looking for the places only they would know Asking only workman's wages I come looking for a job But I get no offers Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome I took some comfort there Then I'm laying out my winter clothes And wishing I was gone Going home Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me Leading me Going home In the clearing stands a boxer And a fighter by his trade And he carries the reminders Of every glove that laid him down Or cut him till he cried out In his anger and his shame "I am leaving, I am leaving" But the fighter still remains