Lyrics Черная лютня - Трава разлуки

My gold - brittle leaves in the wind
My silver is like a drop of dew to a fire
A thin hand will wipe the blood from the face of the wind ...
Tomorrow will not come ... Only the grass of separation is high.

My gold - with feather grass and steppe grass,
My silver was exchanged for steel and pain.
Strings don't ring, the wind beats in the sky
Do not disturb me, just close my eyes with my palm ...

Dissected the armor to breathe easier for me
Minor sin - the battle is not to pity
Of flowers and stars not to weave a wreath,
On the road, only the grass of separation was high ...

Heather on the plain, yes mountains like bitter ice
Do not find valleys where meeting grass grows,
How to find me strength to return through the ages?
So you forgive ... And the grass of separation is high ...

The rustle of brittle ice, the words rustle with foliage,
Does a homeless soul cry in the valley
Black poppies sea, yes there is no my flower,
Only wormwood and bitterness ... Yes, the grass of separation is high.

My gold - brittle leaves in the wind
My silver is like a dewdrop on a fire ...
A thin hand will wipe the blood from the face of the wind
Tomorrow will not come, only grass ...