Текст песни Олег Шепрут - Август

It was empty in shady alley;
Summer slowly went to an end.
I already do not regret anything ...
Oh how was you to face
Then a short slight dress
What caressed your gentle mill;
Only the memory of the account pays,
Despite pain from wounds.
-----
August, ripe august
I discard me head.
August, Spicy August
Ran through the strings of the soul.
-----
Sun splashes hit the net;
Customs, like a thread of being.
Your dress plays the wind;
He is shameless, almost like me.
The proximity of the lips, serene-drunk,
The herbs of an unknown fragrance.
And the taste of thoracic ripe apples,
With a crunch eaten under the sunset.
-----
August, juicy august
I discard me head.
August, gentle August
Ran through the strings of the soul.
-----
Poured ripe juice
Summer, apple, on the lift.
Everything that has riser now, by time,
Will be broken, in his ceremony ...
Then short slight dress
And someone else's discovered garden
I will occasionally remember me.
But I will not return anything back.
-----
August, again August
I discard me head.
August, warm August
Ran through the strings of the soul.
© Oleg Sheprut, August 3, 2015