Текст песни Роман Миронов - Смуток Ейлін

Your spring is yellow with sorrow,
The eye sockets of the night scurried away.
You died ... under a caring look,
Under the hoarse silence that covered you.

You were wind, sob and sorrow,
The tent of sorrow. Depth of convulsive memory
He shook the trouble with a slow dagger;
Your watchful eye, slanted and frail

I cut in the eyelids, and the taste of the prey
It grew with a stem in the palms of the hands.
My soul was scratching, I had to be silent ...
In the bosom of death, in your bosom.