Lyrics Ярослав Кузнецов - Осенний блюз
Views
9
0 people consider the lyrics to be true
0 people consider the lyrics of the song incorrect
The lyrics of the song are provided for your reference Ярослав Кузнецов - Осенний блюз, and also a translation of a song with a video or clip.
1.
Осыпает осень листьями дорогу, украшает.
Рассыпаясь в извиненьях, подметает.
Ветер красочные пятна октября.
Свет струится, ягод спелых багровеет вереница.
И, качаясь на ветвях, на тонких спицах,
Опадает, словно тает на глазах.
Припев
Осенний блюз звучит в тиши, ты не молчи, ты напиши.
Я так хочу, я так стремлюсь услышать твой осенний блюз.
Услышать твой осенний блюз.
2.
Эти звуки извлекают из рояля мои руки.
Испаряя, прогоняя сердца муки.
Под мелодию осеннего дождя.
Свет струится, ягод спелых багровеет вереница.
И, качаясь на ветвях. на тонких спицах.
Опадает, словно тает на глазах.
Припев.
one.
It shods the autumn with leaves, decorates.
Scattering in spokes, sweeps away.
The wind is colorful spots of October.
The light flows, the ripe bogs of the ripe string.
And, swinging on the branches, on thin knitting needles,
It falls as if melting before our eyes.
Chorus
Autumn blues sounds in silence, you do not be silent, you write.
I so want, I am so striving to hear your autumn blues.
Hear your autumn blues.
2.
These sounds extract my hands from the piano.
Evaporating, driving away the hearts of flour.
Under the melody of autumn rain.
The light flows, the ripe bogs of the ripe string.
And, swinging on the branches. On thin knitting needles.
It falls as if melting before our eyes.
Chorus.
It shods the autumn with leaves, decorates.
Scattering in spokes, sweeps away.
The wind is colorful spots of October.
The light flows, the ripe bogs of the ripe string.
And, swinging on the branches, on thin knitting needles,
It falls as if melting before our eyes.
Chorus
Autumn blues sounds in silence, you do not be silent, you write.
I so want, I am so striving to hear your autumn blues.
Hear your autumn blues.
2.
These sounds extract my hands from the piano.
Evaporating, driving away the hearts of flour.
Under the melody of autumn rain.
The light flows, the ripe bogs of the ripe string.
And, swinging on the branches. On thin knitting needles.
It falls as if melting before our eyes.
Chorus.