Текст песни Владимир Юринов - Пока латают паруса

Sail Again
on our funky schooner.
Diligent Passat Again
only puffs out her cheeks.
Soaked gunpowder and tobacco
and disgusted rum to colic,
and we can’t break free, -
a tavern, a brothel and again a tavern, -
such a bermuda triangle.

While the sails are being patched
torn to shreds by storms
there is a year, or maybe half an hour,
to fill the dots.
Cutting down my nose
our pop himself soon "glued fins",
the contractor with the cash desk "dumped",
we are without a rudder and without sails,
without God, but with ballast.

While the sails are being patched
let's quietly on the pier
remember those whose voices
stayed in the logbook
those who, leaning on the helm,
there was a dog watch
who considered hundreds of storms
and who, having passed the ninth rampart,
Argonauts ...

And again patched the tattered grotto
on our poor brigantine.
NORD is covered on compasses,
and the deck is in mud and mud.
The press from pier stones, -
like an eternal slogan on a fence.
A ship swinging in the wave
already quite old
never going out to sea.