Текст песни Цыкин Константин Кристинович - Это осень, мой друг

The smell of marine and burning foam,
And the Gypsy climbers of the trowel.
This is autumn, my friend! These are waves of us
On the things of woolen and colds of banal.

Who knocks teeth in the clouds of October,
Kastagni claws in bells?
This is autumn, my friend! This is the beak crane,
This is the sound of grains shocked in an apple.

Only a boulevard lamp at this time flowering,
On cast-iron branches, dark lighting.
This is autumn, my friend! This is fresh nonsense
It is spread, thoroughly reducing days.

Soon everything that is capable of covered with ice,
Blue thick classic hardcover.
This is autumn, my friend! These are thoughts from
How to feed old people and babies from a spoon,

How to tremble alone necessary by all people
Like a logice, or who knows it ...
This is autumn, my friend! These are tears of love
To all that without this love dies.