Текст песни Ярослав Сумишевский - Продавцы цветов

I am going back home -
Migrant.
The air is so raw
What they can be drunk.

The sky is now buried
And I will not pay.
Thoughts always lack
In the struggle for good luck.

And again someone tulle
Sketched July
But in the soul of February frosts.
And sellers of flowers
Invented love
So that people often bought roses.

We are overtaken by carelessness
Slowly gait.
Became a minute as eternity,
And eternity - short.

I will not forget and you
Do not refuse a lady
Remember how our dreams
Remained with dreams.

And again someone tulle
Sketched July
But in the soul of February frosts.
And sellers of flowers
Invented love
So that people often bought roses.

And now someone shawl
Sketched in February
But in the soul of the July rain and thunderstorms.
And sellers of flowers
Everyone argue about love
So that people often bought roses.