Текст песни Роман Башкиров - Белый лебедь

Raindrops on the glasses
And outside the window is a cold wind.
The bartender will pour wine into my debt,
The glass is my friend this evening.

And three years ago,
The same rain on the platform.
Yes, the matches are wet, tobacco,
And the people in the cell car.
Then the barracks, camps.
And a string of dank days.
Rusty noose spines.
Yes, life is a crumpled page ………….

She met me unkindly
Freedom blown by October.
As if she were cutting with a blade
From fate steel anchors ... ... ...