Текст песни Виктор Берковский - Осенины

And when the breads are ripe,
When the apple trees gave birth
We had a feast
Everything that we met in April.
Where is the boundary between winter and summer,
There are aspen sorrows
Colors splashed from the heart -
Autumn, autumn.

And the second are autumn
They smiled in Indian summer
We buried our nose in the mirror
And the eyelashes turned blue.
And, having come to his senses, men
They hugged warm women
They listened to their embarrassment -
Autumn, autumn.

And on the third autumn
We dimmed thoughts with a swarm:
Let's not give love to hurt
We will not bury under the snow!
And on the third autumn
An idea made us look
A century of love and living backwards -
Younger, younger!
And hearing the cry of an owl
In the dark thicket, in the thickest,
We will fan the fire more ...
Autumn, autumn.