Текст песни Сергей Соловьев - Белокрылая Зима

Do not make me crazy,
White winter.
Do not call with them in a blizzard,
Do not tear the doors from the loops.
I can't get quiet,
I can't stand, run
To the edge of the deserted, to the edge silent,
In the Middle Besca.
I will not end, run.

In that edge, the domination of storms,
Cutting azure,
Immense taiga
Cutting snow.
There, under the snowy roofs,
Only the creak of tired skis,
Edge of jacklong landscapes
Deafling quiet.
Only the creak of tired skis ...

The edge is beautiful, God sees!
Sorry, fatigue pies with legs.
The favor of fate -
Fragment of an abandoned hut.
Maybe on the outcome of the day
In the desired fire
There is a sloeful kind
Wait for me.
At the welcome fire ...

It smells a cheese and smoke.
Head, as a cotton room.
Let their eyes stick
I do not mind, only for.
Let the magic heat
Solvent and pain, and evil.
I, undoubtedly, in the life of this
Endless lucky.
In this life lucky ...