Текст песни Владимир Юринов - Пока латают паруса

Patching the sails again
on our unlucky schooner.
Again diligent trade wind
only puffs out her cheeks in vain.
Gunpowder and tobacco got wet
and disgusted rum to colic,
but we cannot escape in any way, -
tavern, brothel and tavern again, -
such a Bermuda triangle.

While the sails are patching
torn to shreds by storms,
there is a year, or maybe half an hour,
to fill in the ellipsis.
Having cut down on the nose,
our pop himself soon "glued his flippers"
the contractor with the cashier "dumped",
we are without a rudder and without sails,
without God, but with ballast.

While the sails are patching
let's be quiet on the dock
remember those whose voices
remained in the logbook,
those who, leaning on the steering wheel,
there was a watch "dog watch",
who counted storms in hundreds
and who, having passed the ninth wave,
numbered among the Argonauts ...

And again they repair the torn grotto
on our poor brigantine.
NORD is smeared on the compasses,
and the deck is in mud and mud.
The seal from the pier stones
like an eternal slogan on the fence.
A ship swaying on a wave
already quite old,
without ever going out to sea.