When the night is over the city, the moon shines in the houses,
And the pen writes in a notebook, as if by itself,
The impulse of the soul, probably, because we do not know all the secrets.
A sincere conversation over a cup of hot tea.
Time flies by, on the jumper there are spools.
Mother will cut them off with the most gentle hand in the morning.
The silence of the steppe through the prism of cities seems cool to me.
The sound of the train wheels seems to be near.
As if there is no distance at all.
And we fly higher than the Sun into space
Past the stars dear gray-haired elders.
In the arms of the universe, most importantly, we will not stay.
And I will wake up on this strange morning
When the conductor wakes me up.
Dreams sometimes beat like crystal.
And, alas, we do not know how to return time back.
The sky is a pattern, the clouds are a drawing.
I see the night turning into morning.
But while the city sleeps, there is nothing around.
How to stop this moment, alas, I don’t know.
The sky is a pattern, the clouds are a drawing.
I see the night turning into morning.
But while the city sleeps, there is nothing around.
How to stop this moment, alas, I don’t know.
It's hot in the street.
There is a grinding of teeth in the area.
June tenth. Ready for a new one.
Budulay leaves in silence.
A carpet of herbs awaits him
Night bonfires spark.
Guitar over my shoulder
The eyes are chestnuts.
And the stars are still playing.
The brain is covered with paradise.
After all, the heart is an engraving.
Our rap is also an overture.
Not everyone can understand the structure of the soul.
Isn't it true these pampas,
Wonderful fullo with yellow light through the mud,
A ray to the core.
Don't you dare hit from the rear in the back.
And if I'm not needed, then let me freeze.
disappeared into the wagon.
and ran so hard that he didn't notice
Outstripped or lagged behind the pack.
And like Sonai, I don't know, I don't know.
The sky is a pattern, the clouds are a drawing.
I see the night turning into morning.
But while the city sleeps, there is nothing around.
How to stop this moment, alas, I don’t know.
The sky is a pattern, the clouds are a drawing.
I see the night turning into morning.
But while the city sleeps, there is nothing around.
How to stop this moment, alas, I don’t know.
