Текст песни Цимлянского - поездам ночь к лицу

Am C F Em Am C F Em
The train takes the last wave of hands.
Drying memory salt on the lips.
The stars are so much like your words.
                                                                   Dm
Draw on the skin maps of distant countries.
Bm C Bm Dm
And every stroke and every sign
Holds more than words.

He wrote the name at the foot of the rocks.

My hands are also sharpened by the ocean.
A passerby will find them and hide them in his pocket.
Winter hid her hands in her pockets.
Life is so small, it is small to me.

And the look went out, and the sound died down.
They froze in February.

Your every breath whispered after the seven winds.