Last turn (BG)
My name is last turn,
You know yourself me
By taste of vodka from damp earth
And of bread with tears.
In my home all is horseradish and wormwood,
Hole in the head – novelty;
To me a knife along the heart there, where is good,
I'm home there, where is badly.
For which horseradish to me your golden city,
For which horseradish me to sing smoothly –
In my soul seven hundred years is a fire,
Would forget everything – and okay.
And if tomorrow into a clean paradise
I'll be taken under white hands –
Apostle Peter, oh father Nicholas,
Let me out from here.
And in the clear sky two wings
Are drawing an arc properly...
I'm lame myself, and all my affairs –
Pour else – and it is nice.
I'm lame myself, and all my affairs –
Pour else – and it is nice.
My name is last turn,
You know yourself me
By taste of vodka from damp earth
And of bread with tears.
In my home all is horseradish and wormwood,
Hole in the head – novelty;
To me a knife along the heart there, where is good,
I'm home there, where is badly.
For which horseradish to me your golden city,
For which horseradish me to sing smoothly –
In my soul seven hundred years is a fire,
Would forget everything – and okay.
And if tomorrow into a clean paradise
I'll be taken under white hands –
Apostle Peter, oh father Nicholas,
Let me out from here.
And in the clear sky two wings
Are drawing an arc properly...
I'm lame myself, and all my affairs –
Pour else – and it is nice.
I'm lame myself, and all my affairs –
Pour else – and it is nice.