Текст песни Джазаа и Олег Восточный - Моя Осень

October 17, I am writing a letter
not for him, only to penetrate
and I'm not a fan of the epistolary genre
I'll tell him what's cool in Moscow

it's time for words and unnecessary depressions
lumps of humble expression that you want to eat them
where two foliage wrinkles under their feet,
too happy to be us

This fall carries me to utter rubbish
touching your cheeks with the wind - it was me
by the cold and meters in the sleeves aces
this game my mind is fed up

wrap up in fog out of habit
cold hands and unburnt matches
he will ask me to tell you something
and I will tell him that you are my autumn

Chorus:
You're where it's cold
I'm alone in this city
No more reason
To say that roads are so

Strangle you in yourself
Not a drop of oxygen
Light and simmer again
Distant snow pool

© Copyright: Veronika Dorogova, 2014
Certificate of Publication No. 114102307284