Текст песни Иван Манетов - чудится

Zatselovali, bewitched,
With the wind in a field once wed,
All you seem to be locked up in shackles,
Precious my woman

Not funny, not sad,
As if descended from the dark sky,
You and my song Obruchalnaya,
And my star crazy.

I bent over your knees,
Hug them with furious power,
And tears and poems
You burn yourself, bitter, sweet.

Open to me the face of midnight,
Give enter into these eyes heavy,
In the eastern black eyebrows,
In the hands of your half-naked.

What will be added - will not be lowered,
What does not come to pass - will be forgotten ...
Why are you crying, my beauty?
Or is it all just chuditsya me?