Игорь Кормановский - Огни Святого Эльма
текст песни

The lights of St. Elm

Again our unfortunate brig
The element hits, Bushuya,
And, to people are indifferent,
The storm of sail tears.
Probably too often
We poured someone else's blood
Probably too often
Heaven anger.

Will we die?
No, no, hold on, brothers!
Drive the fear of deadly
Weave your nerves in a tourniquet.
The lights of St. Elm
On the mast they will flare up
The lights of St. Elm
In the hearts, fire will be lit.

Freedom is more expensive for us
Than a gold cage,
And the blood is seething like yeast,
When we leave in the raid,
And our cheerful Roger
Calls in black label
For those who tilled faces
On its gold.

The gun of the ship
We will heat the souls
So far, fire is aimed
Do not perfume us
The lights of St. Elm
We will remember the ray,
The lights of St. Elm
Heat at the death hour.

But no, not the time yet
For these sulfur thoughts,
And our flag proudly runs,
And the mast is heard, a creak
Rei are free,
And whole rats in the holds,
Not time yet
Go to fish food.

And you, beauties-schismatics
Do not cry in the port for us,
After all, in the mugs strong ale we
We pour more than once.
The lights of St. Elm
Again sparkled on the mast
The lights of St. Elm
The hearts will light with fire.