Текст песни Юрий Лорес - Летит по аллеям листва

Flies through the alleys of the foliage,
Did not find a place for himself.
Here as well, probably, and we
For these alleys rustling.
And only in the garden city
Sounding brass bands.
Why blow from itself
Through the pipe remains of the soul?

And I curled up against the trunk -
Maple leaf to birch.
You - the tree, too, and I -
The same as your children.
And these bands in the garden -
Shivering from the cold air,
Which is easy to crucify us,
But so hard to split.

Perhaps our love
Was not love, and posture.
For the love of trees and foliage,
Which is near rustling.
And only a maple leaf
There is a growing on birch ...
The garden is blown orchestras
Through the pipe remains of the soul.