Текст песни промзона 96 - завтра

In the rustle of the leaves of fallen from century trees
I will hear the voice flying through the branches
Voice to pain acquaintance
Let passersby be anyway who we

red gouring of the outgoing sun by pine
branches in the darkness light up suddenly
The smell of a worn bread
In the distance spread the morning sky

And now this mark is close
and outside the window silence and peace
on old hours 4 am
but never gasli lights under the bridge
And now this mark is close
and outside the window silence and peace
on old hours 4 am
And someone never returned home

Let the new day wake me later
The rustle of old newspapers on asphalt
Mountains from leaves in briquettes Wind will decompose
Morning is already very close as sorry