Текст песни Юрий Насыбуллин и Марина Багинская - Бабье лето

Said the Babye summer,
But no one judges him,
After all, see all the signs,
That winter harsh will be.

The sun is red as wounds
Autumn leaves draws.
And it's time to salary frames,
Because the windows blows.

On Taganka funeral jazz gang
Plugit music stages and victories.
And trading the bag team
With a buyer a capricious on what the light.

Somewhere in search of overnight
In the alleys, the wind wanders.
If there is a lot of snow,
So, there will be a flood.

Raft Leaves over Manege
Autumn, like a carpenter shavings.
All sad and hopeless
Watching beggar old women.

And on Jauze until the future summer
They were attached to the wintering boat.
Autumn song for them is not yet
Square to resign the skipper.

Indian summer dragged
Like a smoker self-sum
And fog choke
Or smoke, or poison.

And trees are not by chance
Rada to the walls leaning.
And, it seems to me sad
Passerschi became faces.

Indian Summer, Indian Summer, India Summer
Asks gold from autumn borrowed,
But the wind sweats the leaves like coins.
Mediques ring on the pellets of winter.