Текст песни Юрий Визбор - Вот уходит наше время, вот редеет наше племя...

Here goes our time,
That thins our tribe.
Time turned over all
Frivolous as snow,
At childish leg jumps,
On the toy horse
Along the path, the path,
By chamomile, on the piste.

And as long as it takes,
Nothing happens.
The sun sets behind the mountain,
Leaving us to the moon.
We look for it in the box,
We see the white trail sled
On a footpath, on the track,
Daisies, on the track.

All that was then was
And, imagine, it was cute.
All that memory is not forgotten,
Increases in the price.
We look forward to a little bit,
What all will return in the spring
Along the path, the path,
On the track melted.

We secretly believe something,
What is not the first time we walk,
What is behind this black Guy
As if waiting for us a new forest,
What do we get out of fun,
Let's change the violin to clarinet
And playing on the track,
We will continue on the track ...