Текст песни Сергей Бабкин - Боль моя

The yellow sky gray dome of wind hit the gun,
Morning of the best in the world in the earth day buried alive.
All living breath of God, him him go,
Enchanted road, all are lazeechku find.

Old Crow crown strokes, convene in chicks home.
Gilded crown Formation of bronze wreaths.
In the black box howling blizzard, white dazzled,
What are silent, winter-friend, it really has nothing to say?

My pain does not matter, it will catch up again.
Dal seven frets that were not counted.
My pain does not matter, still catch up
Dal seven frets that were not counted

In the swamp white swan majestically tramples mud (?)
The things destined to - be, will come true, Gates.
The dilapidated house smells like iodine, furnace heat warms the soul.
Sweet bliss, viscous honey hurts the eyes candle flame.

My pain does not matter, still catch up
Dal seven frets that were not counted
Dal my never mind catch up with more
It melts in seven frets that were not counted

My pain does not matter, still catch up
Dal seven frets that were not counted
My pain does not matter, still catch up
Dal seven frets that were not counted