Текст песни Вадим Егоров - Стебель души

Opochil youth do not rush to bury,
otherwise wither delicate stem of the soul,
For roots after years of empty-layers
He pulls from our youth their juices.
Passions flared kosterok not mascara,
otherwise freeze delicate stem of the soul,
passion for stove in the ice box
warms us, even if it is unrequited.

Timid babble hope, the pain of loss is not the wilderness,
otherwise withered stalk gentle soul.
Let come to know in plenty and delight, and beating,
For pain and hope - his bread and drink.
Nothing - God knows - with himself, not the soul,
For all your smothering - is the soul body,
because he did not notice, gray-eyed, bolshegub,
do not even like the old - and already murderer.

Between people prying into their uneven ranks
in the autumn the platform at the car standing.
What kind of turmoil on the heart? What a rustling in the silence?
... Showered with yellowed leaves the soul.