Ефимыч - Гитарист
текст песни

Dropping leaves onto the water
A pre-twilight shudder
To the whispers of a guitarist
How good he is!
With a tremor, as if on a chopping block
The string lies on the fret
But there is no room for fear
No pain under this row

Where the notes flow
From music to the fields
Like a honeycomb in honey
The earth hums sweetly
The sky incenses the madness
With a smoldering red cloth
Twilight, drawing in its sting
Exhaled over the shoulder

And now the golden-stringed
Solemn strumming
Floats along the moonlit road
Somewhere in the coastal pine forest
A bird cries somewhere
Your hand is warm
Another summer
Burned to the ground

Dropping leaves onto the water
A pre-twilight shudder
To the whispers of a guitarist
How good he is! With a trembling, as if on a chopping block,
The string falls to the fret
But there is no room for fear
No pain under this row