Текст песни Мертвий півень - Вона ще не виросла

it has not grown and has not lost his head
of black music in their wrists
and the light of the heavens and the beginnings of hunger
her hands are for happiness

it is not falling on wet mattresses
and her blood flowed not rush
and have not roamed southern slopes
cattle - branded as second-class bed

and friends at stations in towns and rivers
take care of your travel wealth
and burned clothing in the sun yet
Field holding her shoulder blades

it is not simply die
licking wounds like envelopes
cleans teeth as service weapon
and falls asleep next to you