Текст песни промзона 96 - завтра

in the rustling of leaves of fallen trees from ancient trees
I will hear a voice flying through branches
voice is painfully familiar
let passersby will not care who we are

the red dawn of the passing sun for the pines
The branches in the dark will light up suddenly
the smell of stale bread
the morning sky will fly away

and now this mark is close
and outside the silence and peace
on the old clock 4 am
but did not extinguish the lights under the bridge
and now this mark is close
and outside the silence and peace
on the old clock 4 am
but someone did not return home

let a new day wake me up later
rustle of old newspapers about asphalt
mountains from leaves to briquettes the wind will decompose
the morning is very near, what a pity