Текст песни Песняры - Полынь-Трава

I grew up from hustle and squares
Where is life so many and diverse
But I remember flocks of white -winged swans
And songs under the accordion by the fire

I also remember my mother with a full punch of milk
Baked potatoes from ash
And the nights were hot, and smelled on the hands
Bitterness that left wormwood

Wormwood-grass, wormwood
Through years I hear your bitter aroma
Wormwood-grass, wormwood
Blooms like in the youth of my wormwood

And the years are all carried out, they seem to have no number
I forgot one of my friends
And the heart asks for the far yesterday
Where is the source of my fate hiding

Where is the first love to me with wreath
Slightly laid out blue
And there were lips sweet, and smelled on the hands
Bitterness that left wormwood