Текст песни стихи Макса Фрая, музыка Лирика - Птица

I won't be back home - I decided!
This sky trembles like water ...
How many thousands of steps from marsh low
To cold, like hands, moon?
Naked branches under the severity of birds.
Mind Bird screams - not trouble.
Let shout. I have
In stock the last sip of silence.
I will never come home
But back to the morning.

Dark evening and cold wind,
Moon turn to the damage - nothing!
You know, bird, I have no left
Not a drop of slave and not a drop of good,
And neither a drop of love, and not a drop of me.
And nor a drop of me yourself.