Текст песни Вера Вотинцева - Изольда

Over Ireland is a gray moon,

Wolly wind calls for himself,

And again I go to the beach alone

Finding listen to surf.

This whisper of the night is the soul and strong,

The voice will be weakened by tears, it is immensely tired,

"Oh, Isolde!" - whispered, escaping, wave,

I will answer her - "Hello, Tristan ...

My favorite, happy goes off

We are far from joyful places

And already over the shining fire flesh

The turning cross is ascended ... "-

"Only our sin is afraid now?

Together we are forever, our bowl is empty,

All separations have been passed for a long time, you believe

Hands closed, merged mouth! "

But still bitter tribute is not paid,

And the price of unknown love.

Sailing black closes a happy distance

Sail white - cream on the blood ...

Our life is expensive, probably the price

But love will not pay this price.

"Oh, Isolde!" - All whispers a gray wave ...

It is incomplete and permanent surf.

1985.