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U yaskravych nebesnych tonach,
Utopyty sonce vohnem.
Ty nichto i ya ne tvoya,
Poky nich hraye u slova.

Pryspiv

Misyachnym shlyachom nebesnych zir
Lid u ochach pereyshov u doshch,
Slovo v ustach uviyshlo u chas,
Mriya pishla zalyshyvshy nas...

Mriyu zaplesty kvitkoyu snu.
Holos na bezvist' slovom lyublyu!
Moze y brechlyvo ce prozvuchyt',
V shchyrist' ne virnistyu krashche ne yty

Pryspiv

Na starych fotoznimkach chuzych
Bachyty vsyudy rysy tvoyi!
Ce tak banalno bachyty yich,
Sonce topyty vranishniy snih

Pryspiv (2)




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