Текст песни Мира - Путь

The sound of a wall clock, like the smoke of a young fire
rises up, ship breaking on life.
Soon a lot of steps along the roads will spread ... I
I’ll follow you through tombstones of plates.

Nothing ever leaves without a trace and away
as if the past days have the right to life.
When the eyes see the horizon of irrigated soils -
in velvet first colors
thy feet shall be shod.

Ahead is a stack of books with a series of unfinished chapters.
Dip a pen into the mascara and go while you can go.
When the path leads to the fields of malachite grasses -
bright winged birds
clog up
in your
breasts.