Смысловые Галлюцинации, BORISSOVPRO Молодые ветра

Dry and straight cars overflowing golden wrecks are showing
From the south they blow the young and restless winds tearing clouds into shreds and pieces
From back home the memory never ceases Mama
And it's not the last of love

Across the sky they run, someone's tracks are there
Maybe it is you maybe it's me out there maybe we're waiting for
Maybe our own are singing
A blade has struck the stone a war against the memory of years

The blade has struck the stone a war against the memory of years
The blade has struck the stone a war against the memory of years
The blades struck the stone a war against the memory of years
Наш закат на камне идёт война на память лет