Текст песни Мертвий Півень - Фаустове свято. Ніч

Behold you, poor beggar,
the first sign of Christmas -
You got snow for white poems,
wind with a cloak.

Wings are not here, but pain from the wings
for the night poured to the table -
like a fish, catching a bug
and returning in a huge amount.

Only now she has a seal
enlightenment and conceit.
There are winter in it - brick chimneys
warm about the white pores.

Here is your night, empty head,
on the eve of Christmas
Want to think of it as the dawn
the kings of the trio jumped ...