Текст песни Юго-Запад - Шоссе

Highway devoid of the end driven into the horizon,
I calmed down about the torn brakes.
Pedal pressed kirpichёm, wheel crushed foot,
Flies curved distance, the starry arc!

Chorus:
The engine cuts a jig and vёrsty like a book,
Moves easily speedometer.
And as a way of life for the native threshold,
And that's fine, holy thing - The way home

Through the empty field through the empty region
I fly to where he chose, in his old age to die.
Where three birch trees outside the window grew tall as a house,
Where from the housing and to housing, a hundred kilometers.

Chorus:
During the first snowstorm and rotten berries
What April - winter.
Lead gave Taiga in the Urals,
A few years - the details. Details of a difficult fate.

Flying is not throwing gas, and in front of a star
I podmignёt once again, if there is calling,
Where clouds in the evening, as the color of cranberries.
I had to wait for years, and look for days.

The engine cuts a jig and vёrsty like a book,
Moves easily speedometer.
And as a way of life for the native threshold,
And that's fine. Holy thing - a way home.

During the first snowstorm and rotten berries
What April - winter.
Lead gave Taiga in the Urals,
A few years - the details. Details of a difficult fate.