Текст песни Вера Полозкова - Юг - Летний романс

"There is a solo, about you the second verse."
She seems to her three hundred forty years old.
He wrote her five loved songs.
She nods, hiding forehead in darkness,
And answers mentally to him
But more cheerful: "Truch and mold."

He is angry; Zarnitsa; Singly child.
He seems to be biting, gaining
In it, the spirit of the Victorian novel.
And the kisses from the lips flow it,
How oil gi like sinier like flap
Salted layered fog.

July broke in the city empty
Cat and middle-in
And all the boulevards twilight laid out,
How blue silk; first star
As if someone shot here:
Everyone turned heads for a shot.

Spore of softness and accurate mind,
The princess and prison herself,
Self Candle and Gill Marble,
Rejectedness outlorn, like a plague,
She does not want to remember who
His order forever wears mourning.

She is him, then it may be rude,
As if shelters from himself,
From the forces that they spend search at night:
Not a word except polite ice.
But he can't catch at a joke
Her smiles are a precious glimpse.

Her in the subway by chance of coal
Conspiring and bold local virgins
He avoids. Flame of capricious
Permeated, latter to him ravily,
He feels some kind of old myth.
He somehow knows what he is called.

So the dial is spinning reversal.
God forbid, God forbid him to read
She has these songs to boil everything there
From tenderness straight when home
She will come and say "my dear"
And it will cry, as if in a seven.