Текст песни Встречный Ветер - Путь на север

Through the prism of the preliminary sun, through joy
Projection what is reflected in us
I used the whole bitterness of madness, misfortune
Neither in the profile of the progress, nor in the face
As if a knife suddenly broke my Eidos
The last fate of the fate ruined
Do not find me nor at home or books
I am not letting the astral
I'm wondering again in anxiety
But here I appear in harmony
In proportionality, strictly, calm.
True in the ensemble with my melancholy
One place from many universes
I see through my Palantir
It is essentially elegant, like a symphony
In the consonance of the Greek Lear
The abode is not in vainly flashed by everyone
Always buried alive
You can break, get granted, walk,
But she will not receive everyone
Firm in the ruins of three revolutions
Best grade Anthracite
Capital of artists, artists, bards
With addiction to suicide.
In the fogs in addition to blind rest
There will be no life nor dreams
I rot, I suffered, dying and now
Believe me, I'm just ready
Take me, Peter, Accept as a native
I, too, because the curler from the wind and the puddle
As a city of explosive, broken, crumpled
Forever lost souls