Текст песни Сергей Маховиков - Стая белых ворон

Resounding April was played at the festival
black sheep
Seal up and pasted together from rags and strips
funeral throne
And floated downriver white wings
in underwear underwear
And head beat against the ice floes oblique
bows in spring

The spot Krasnoarmeysky my flax worn out
to a black hole
And children in silks - greenhorns blots
loop between fingers
There is no clean water land - only the air:
Ash two oxygen
Under plenochkoj oil swung mysteriously
virgin morgue

A flock of tossing and beating wings,
a fist in the marshes
And children in silks greenhorns blots
flowed between the fingers
There must be a way, but the output has led
ringed in input
We all - the same bird, and we will not do
the carrot and the whip

Leave your wooden wings
enemies coffins
On the bare blades even cut the power
for a new dream
And the king swept and cut the claws
his little throne
Feathered tribe will not goats -
We flock of crows

A night on the ground ... and blacker,
A rain party
Let night polosnet though the stump of feathers
sick birds
Let us outline the crows circle time,
who celebrate the funeral feast
Bird of trouble or when not to sell
his home and otchizu