P.S. 27 - Дурачки
текст песни

[Music - Alexander Frolov, Text - Alexander Block]

I drove you whip
At noon through the bushes,
To lean here together
Quiet emptiness.

Here - sit with you on moss
In the middle of the swamp.
The third one month at the top -
I twisted my mouth.

I, like you, Child Oak,
My face is also erased.
Hushwater and below herbs -
Smear hell.

On a stupid cap
Bubrenic separation.
Behind the shoulders - in the distance -
Network River Issuke ...

And we sit, fools, -
Undead, unfortunate water.
Green caps
Backwards.

Cryed water sleep,
Rust waves ...
We are forgotten traces
Whose depth ...