Текст песни АукцЫон - Франциск

Spare me

Deliver me from the sight of an empty bowl that edge,
where there is no grace of your coins,

Now,
When the circle of darker, falling,
Rags tangible on the brightness of banners
Instantaneous shrinking century
Probably, this is the best moment of perfect
Oh, if I did not see blinking
Glory your flower puddle
And the pond and creek road nezabudok
Flow
Now thunders unwinding chain
Blacksmith striker-astrologer
And these are
Around the stand for fear of shaking and seemed to wait for news.

Now the hour of the lips that are silent,
It should be a perfect hour silent compressed lips
Would my air
Could melting wax flowers among golden
I have sailed with them
Above the stars buzzing sail.
For a long time heavy rain poured down their honey
These viscous field.
Then the land would become a mug in his hands outstretched
But you - what he put silver to burn in
close circle?
Which fish tossed to the poor in this oil for the sake of torment?
You are you,
But just how do you give us an escape holy wood bridge
your proximity to the shore?
Here he was captured and cut dry
Here, I deliver.