Текст песни анна сеничева - каждый вечер в мой дом приплывает туман

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Each evening, the fog sails into my house and steals the subject sharpness, climbs to me on a wicker sofa, corrects the bending of the curtains. Speaks about the worlds where the cornflowers are ringing, where the color of Ivan tea is lost, where on a rusty chain at the edge of the River Waves, the red boat is swinging.

I am increasingly silent, the shore is silent from unnecessary sound and a slick, and flies without a look, flies in the embroidery of my word.

I forget painful names, someone's sharp morals. I have a saving silence, only it matters.

And stands in a water in a column, and walks over the shore of Echo ...
I would also have left, just where from the fog so to leave?

# Annasenicheva