Текст песни Владимир Туриянский - Акварель

When Paris is under a mushroom rain
And in the music of frozen baroque
Dream of me, then I wake up sick
As if he weren’t young
As a life prisoner.
Baltic winds sifting rain
The snow will come off and melt into the streams.
And tomorrow will be the same as yesterday.
And the days fly like sparks from a fire
And fly away like bird flocks.
With a mocking thrush
Swaying day under a gray sky
A gloomy star goes out
And run away - wagons after wagon ...

I love watercolor
In a white window frame.
This is the month of April,
It is just spring.
Emerald fog
Above the trunks of birches.
Tired of home
Gray smoke cigarettes.
Strange dreams roam
About bag and prison.
How I lived until spring
I will not tell anyone.
And you don’t understand
So, do not forgive.
Well, I'll leave again
Sad on the roads.