Текст песни М.Шуфутинский - Спит Черное море

Crimea - little seagull cry
Thin notorious
It touches the soul, as the bird touches the wing
Waves.
I am experiencing the Crimea,
I'm full of him, like a dream,
An inexplicable dream.

Crimea, where we did not hesitate
Be savages: into the world of the pristine
For the happiness of the week for three, on vacation.
Crimea - the child will burn,
Wines of Massandra and Gurzuf until the morning
In the gentle surf of the guitar.

The Black Sea sleeps,
But you can not hide your temper,
How can it be arbitrary sometimes!
The Black Sea sleeps
And, as if in the palms of the waves,
Holds its own
Ships.

Crimea - in the evening fishermen
Small catch
We, the townspeople, are sold for their color
From boats.
Crimea is a quiet evening breeze,
Smell of kebab from
Twisted ivy
And grapes of cafes.

I am worried about the Crimea:
He was so dear,
How, I fear, will not from nowhere
In the world.
Crimea - we will throw a coin and
Again, like savages,
may be we
We will return to our paradise one day.

The Black Sea sleeps,
But you can not hide your temper,
How can it be arbitrary sometimes!
The Black Sea sleeps
And, as if in the palms of the waves,
Holds its own
Ships.