Текст песни Татка - Варенье

Forsake you my flowering marsh,
My dusty summer - rotten roots,
My you precious gold.
I listen to his voice, his arms outstretched,
Lay, and covered with snow
I'm dreaming, I'm a bird winter

I myself disagree
Days - a grain of salt in the crude salt shaker
Come home - and I cut, I cut
Snowflakes on the knee
Before going to bed I read you a story
And it's always the same
I lie there and freeze drops
On the beaten track

Forsake you my blooming desert
Before the low season - year lull
Hang in amber quatrains
Each pilgrim hands get cool
And the movement will become sparse, lethargic
Become those who are not swayed by I

Hello, good luck, write less often
Do not forget, check that you are fastened
When I got home - I cook jam
A mosaic of broken glass.
Get in the box, slam
Fall deeply sneeze dust
Home waiting for me my trough,
About you already forgotten.