Черная лютня - Трава разлуки
текст песни

My gold is brittle in the wind,
My silver is like a drop of dew to the fire,
Blood from the face will shine of the wind thin hand ...
Tomorrow will not come ... only the grass of separation is high.

My gold is coat and steppe grass,
My silver was exchanged for steel and pain.
The strings do not ring, the wind beats in heaven,
Do not disturb me, just close my eyes with your palm ...

They cut off the armor to breathe easier for me,
Small sin - in the battle is not up to pity,
From flowers and stars, you can’t weave a wreath already,
On the road, only the grass of separation is high ...

Heather on the plain, yes mountains like bitter ice
Do not find a valley where the grass is growing,
How to find my strength to return through centuries?
So that you forgive ... and the grass of separation is high ...

Rustle of brittle ice floes, words of foliage rustle,
Is a homeless soul crying in the valley,
Black poppies Sea, but there is no my flower,
Only wormwood and bitterness ... Yes, the grass is high.

My gold is brittle in the wind,
My silver is like a drop of dew to a fire ...
Blood from the face will shave a thin hand,
Tomorrow will not come, only grass ...