Текст песни Владимир Скобцов - Зонги к Мастеру и Маргарите .Мастер.

How, say, get away from fate,
If the light of the star of Bethlehem
Puts a string on paper
And dictates all night long?

Sunday night is long
Such is the redemption price.
A thousand moons for once upon a time
The procurator looks at the moon.

How, say, get away from love,
From the heady flow of blood
The moment he saw her
The one that the century has been expecting?

And into the red puddle of wine
An incorruptible moon shines.
The procurator looks at the moon
And immortal, and chilly to him.

How, say, get away from the cross?
The memory became sick and empty;
And the fog is black outside the windows
And the novel burns out in the oven.

And visible on marble with blood
Arrived puddle of wine.
And the judge is guilty
And the executed grieves over him.