Текст песни А. Юрлов - Свиридов. Снег идет. 2. Душа

Pasternak Boris Leonidovich
When clear up (1956 - 1959)
The soul (my soul, Wistful)
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My soul, Wistful
About everyone in my circle,
You have become the burial place
Tortured alive.

Their bodies embalming,
They are devoting verse,
Wail liroyu
Lamenting them

You're presently selfish
For conscience and fear
Standing grave urnoyu,
Resting their ashes.

Their total flour
You bowed down.
You smell the dust of cadaveric
Dead and tombs.

My soul, Potter's Field,
All he had seen here,
Grinding a mill,
You turned into a mixture of

And then grinds
All were with me,
As forty years almost,
In pogostny humus.