Текст песни I-maze - К веткам рук твоих, к тонким прутикам

In the white sweater ,
me .. Can I ?
A step slow
in the stale air .

Autumn leaves
whispering in his ear ,
Mom gently ..
It is not washed.

Downstairs,
up the symphony ,
bent notes -
butterflies die .

Sticky vermouth ,
hoarse throat ,
look to the wind ,
the smell of apple .

I would have blue ,
frightened eyes ,
to the branches of thine hand ,
to thin twigs .

Just think ,
cast your eyes ,
not to my chest ,
clinging to the cold.