Текст песни СП Бабай - оф. сайт - Маленькие ручки

When I sit on the roof,
Substituting back south,
I think of the mystery
Such powerless hands.

When the fate of a sudden
Hit me in the stomach,
I think music
About them or for them.

They are so many,
What I'm tired of them.
They scribble poems
And Drill Regulations,

They removed most
Reliable of people
They are the cause of life
And the reason for death.

Oh, little hands,
Try to forget them,
When two white stalk
You lay on your chest.

Oh, little hands,
Two little pageboy,
The two lightest secrets
Two knife blade.

You can build a castle,
But it'll be a servant,
And thou shalt hourly
Wait for the participation of other.

You can beat the dishes,
As his last day,
And you write a play,
When I would get lazy.

You finally make up your mind
On or off the campaign.
Spitting you to hunger,
Frost and ice,

But little hands
Crawling in silence
And kindly oschiplyut
Appendages on the back.