Текст песни Михаил Щербаков - Острова

My son!
There are no islands.
Calm down, don't waste your energy.
It's all the sailors are lying.
There is little demand for sailors.

Believe me:
none of my servants
did not meet those islands.
I've questioned everyone, son.
I tried to search myself.

Seven days
seven of my ships were sailing;
seven most accurate nautical charts
I had it at hand;
seven nights did not close my eyes ...

All in vain!
No matter how much I looked into the distance,
the horizon was always clear
the ocean was empty all around.
I came back with nothing, son.

God knows
who told the sailors to lie!
Probably in any lie
there is a secret meaning ...
But they are talking nonsense!

My son,
sailors - this is so, sound ...
Ships are nonsense, whim ...
For they have nowhere to swim.
Geography is nonsense, son.

Chain of waves
forms a solid circle.
Our continent is lonely.
The islands are happiness.
There are no islands.

Seven days
the journey lasts or seven years
or he will turn back,
or in the teeth of whales, there,
on which the world stands ...

Come to the ocean no earlier than
you will understand my instruction. Wait,
until you become reasonable and sober. And then-
come to the ocean without the risk of going blind
at the sight of the seven islands from the legend,
seven islands of gold ... sailors
they say: there are no more, no less,
but exactly seven ...