All that I saw was not, there were lightnings, there were no thunders.
My little airplane, my angel, hanged the wings with wings.
The wet wind was recklessly crossed, furrowing the glass with prophetic signs.
And below the palm trees, as if intoxicating, did not allow to forget.
That I am baptized, bequeathed to know.
Chorus:
The train hurries into the sunset over the Don Volga, in the compartment cognac, two teas.
Honey. Russia sleeps outside the window for a long night, in a compartment cognac, two teas.
Rastamans Kumar in the sea of games, Harru birthday I sang two blacks,
And inside, the voices, barely audible, saddened the soul with white snow.
In the reflection of the eyes of a black woman I did not see myself promised to her
In the Indian summer, with the rings of eternity, I am engaged to .... engaged, but not married.
Chorus:
The train hurries into the sunset over the Don Volga, in the compartment cognac, two teas.
Honey. Russia sleeps outside the window for a long night, in a compartment cognac, two teas.
Honey.
Honey.
When you leave from where you always felt: you forgot something.
And I want to go out, go into the white light away from the world by the futile losses.
You know that money is like gray dust, and life, as if by notes, is a sowing past.
While you wondered “Yes” or “No”, the white light went out behind the car.
Chorus:
The train hurries into the sunset over the Don Volga, in the compartment cognac, two teas.
Honey. Russia sleeps outside the window for a long night, in a compartment cognac, two teas.
Honey.
Honey.
Honey...