Текст песни Сучий Лесок - Кости

By whisking the churchyard long arms,
Opt bones of dry grass.
Black wind blowing the white nights,
Blowing from the brick factory chimney.

The bones, my bones. Full basket.
Yellow as butter. Solid, like bread.
Wind, blowing, blowing storm,
Dispersing the hectic world nonsense.

Wind, blowing, blowing the face,
Those familiar with my inner beauty.
Exposes the person opening the bone,
Existence can not hide under the meat melancholy.

And everywhere sharyat trembling hands,
By separating the sky from the earth's bones.
And the gap of consciousness departs the wind
Wind from the brick factory chimney.