Текст песни Дороги Меняют Цвет - Устал умирать

I'm tired of dying on the hands of the owner of the old Corchma,
To see how my November in the fires waiting for the winter ...
On the night, sit at the sacred water, sickling gray hassle
I asked him: "Sawn" ... I did not save the charm, you burned down ...

Often mnives from ancient alder, dissolve in the heat of your caress
The autumn let us go to sins, the old forest told us fairy tales ...
I cursed myself, and that day, I cursed the night and disturbing dreams ...
I'm tired of dying on the hands of the owner of the old Corchma,
I was tired of dying on the hands of the owner of the old Corchma ....