Lyrics Ю.Визбор - В Ялте ноябрь
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The lyrics of the song are provided for your reference Ю.Визбор - В Ялте ноябрь, and also a translation of a song with a video or clip.
В Ялте ноябрь.
Ветер гонит по набережной
Желтые жухлые листья платанов.
Волны, ревя, разбиваются о парапет,
Словно хотят добежать до ларька,
Где торгуют горячим бульоном...
В Ялте ноябрь.
В Ялте пусто, как в летнем кино,
Где только что шла французская драма,
Где до сих пор не остыли моторы проекторов,
И лишь экран одиноко глядит,
Освещенный косым фонарем...
В Ялте ноябрь.
Там, в далеких норвежских горах,
Возле избы, где живут пожилые крестьяне,
Этот циклон родился,
И, пройдя всю Европу,
Он, обессиленный, все ж холодит ваши щеки.
В Ялте ноябрь.
Разрешите о том пожалеть
И с легким трепетом взять вас под руку.
В нашем кино
Приключений осталось немного,
Так будем судьбе благодарны
За этот печальный оброненный кем-то билет...
In Yalta is November.
The wind drives the embankment
Yellow rotten leaves of plane trees.
Waves, roaring, are broken about the parapet,
Like they want to run to the stall,
Where they sell hot soup ...
In Yalta is November.
In Yalta is empty, as in the summer movie,
Where the French drama was just going,
Where the motors of projectors have not cooled down yet,
And only the screen looks lonely,
Illuminated by an oblique lantern ...
In Yalta is November.
There, in the distant Norwegian mountains,
Near the hut, where the elderly peasants live,
This cyclone was born,
And, having passed all Europe,
He, exhausted, is still chilling your cheeks.
In Yalta is November.
Allow me to regret that
And with a slight trembling take you by the arm.
In our cinema
Adventures left a little,
So we will be grateful
For this sad ticket lost by someone ...
The wind drives the embankment
Yellow rotten leaves of plane trees.
Waves, roaring, are broken about the parapet,
Like they want to run to the stall,
Where they sell hot soup ...
In Yalta is November.
In Yalta is empty, as in the summer movie,
Where the French drama was just going,
Where the motors of projectors have not cooled down yet,
And only the screen looks lonely,
Illuminated by an oblique lantern ...
In Yalta is November.
There, in the distant Norwegian mountains,
Near the hut, where the elderly peasants live,
This cyclone was born,
And, having passed all Europe,
He, exhausted, is still chilling your cheeks.
In Yalta is November.
Allow me to regret that
And with a slight trembling take you by the arm.
In our cinema
Adventures left a little,
So we will be grateful
For this sad ticket lost by someone ...