Текст песни Александр Гумбарг - Бумажный самолет

My
A paper plane flies to you in a year
To where, as always,
We hold hands tightly.

is he
From a notebook sheet, and a six-digit telephone
On the white fuselage
Into the purple cage.

I will let him go in the wind.

May he land somewhere in our summer.

My
Paper plane, wing piercing ultramarine,
Flying all alone
Towards a new sunset.

I
Fold it yesterday to let go today
And tomorrow maybe
He will reach the addressee

Not regretting the loss.

I myself would have flew after him somewhere ...

There,
Where are we still children
Where am I running with you
Knocking down feet on gravel.

There,
Where we won’t notice
How to grow up
Your photos.

My
A paper plane, without crew and turbines,
Flies over the clouds
Although there is no pilot at the helm.

In that
A faraway country, where one spring all year round,
Where you and I don’t know
About problems and concerns.

It became sad from something ...

Me and I fly with a paper airplane.

There,
Where are we still children
Where am I running with you
Knocking down feet on gravel.

There,
Where we won’t notice
How to grow up
Your photos.

There,
Where are we still children
Where am I running with you
Knocking down feet on gravel.

There,
Where we won’t notice
How to grow up ...