Текст песни Ирина Аллегрова - На курортах

At the resorts, at the resorts
People in T-shirts and shorts
Collected for a year
Ripe foamy still life.

Air over thirty, water a little lower
The key has been handed over to the reception.
And again from selfies without respite
The screen began to melt.

Children and dads, and mothers doubly
Instantly caught in the sun.
And all the cockroaches that are in my head
They become butterflies.

At the resorts, at the resorts
People in T-shirts and shorts
Collected for a year
Ripe foamy still life.

Miraculous panamas embroidered the shore
The sea calls to its captivity.
And there will be a tide of wet money
Rejoice the bartender.

Days fly by and melt already
Like a puddle under the slate.
But all the cats that lived in the soul
Seagulls are circling in the sky.