Текст песни Сучий Лесок - Кости

According to the graveyard whisking long arms,
Opt for the bones of dry grass.
Black wind blowing the white nights,
Blowing of brick smokestacks.

Bone of my bone. Full basket.
Yellow as butter. Solid as bread.
Wind, blowing, blowing storm,
Dispersing the hectic world nonsense.

Wind, blowing, blowing persons
I am familiar with the inner face beauty.
Exposes the person opening the bone,
Things can not be hidden under the meat melancholy.

And everywhere sharyat trembling hands,
Separating the sky from the earth's bones.
And in the gap of consciousness departs wind
Wind from the brick factory chimneys.