Текст песни Трофим - Золушка

Cute Cinderella was about eighteen,
Or maybe a little less than that.
I felt sorry for her and desire to stay
Arose above all.
I whispered something to her, looking nobly
To become fragile all over her
Something weaved about the high, a little lying
And how can one not lie here.

And she was turning into a princess before her eyes,
And I'm an idiot, alas,
Here men are weaker in process
Loss of your head.
And when my lips felt thirsty
Taste her quivering lips
Everything happened and it was not so important
All that was happening around.

I woke up as if doused with water
Hard to stand on the ground.
Well, Cinderella became like a locksmith in a binge,
And I'm like a layout for hand-to-hand combat.
Then she said obscenities
And hid in the distance on a broomstick.