Текст песни 014 Григорий Рейхтман - Когда мы спрячем запазуху ветрами избитые флаги

When we hide behind the sinuses
  winds battered flags
and burn silently on the shore
  the latest ships,
our little drummer
  leave for the evening sun
and a thin shiny icicles
  increases in the yellow gave.
From the ashes of bitter,
  from the abandoned alleys,
where the rains beat monotonously
  on the roofs, both in coffins,
betrayal of the evil, that prowls
  the houses empty and echoing,
our little drummer
  leave without passing the drum.
But there is a consolation - as if
  the last round in the cage -
last bittersweet,
  that each of us was right.
And because of the planet
  steps our drummer -
He is straight and thin,
  touching the tops of grass.