Hymn of impassability

Lake, river, swirling earth, flood, stone, trees, rapid,
 Voice guitar, Simon at the helm: "the Bear! Look-it's impassable!"
 Life starts again from scratch: children, jobs, apartments, cars.
 You look back and see where our land is. Senka, we have passed, but it is impassable.
 
 Beaches deserted in the roar of the surf, foaming waves, cold sand.
 I hear your cry: "there are three seas Between us. You're crazy! Are you a God?"
 Maybe believe it! All you need is a jump. Fear, and I close your eyes.
 Don't be afraid, there's sand under the sea. Only a step is needed, and there are many of them to Paradise.
 
 Dried kayaks. The midnight fire. Song Vysotsky sings us a cold.
 The bard read a prayer to the guitar. What are we going to have for dinner tonight?
 Our fires have been shining for thousands of years. Running fast, shoals, rocks, rapids.
 I'm buying a business class ticket to catch your name day.
 
 I remember the proud Caucasus under the skis. Sunlight flooded the mud in the fog.
 Senka on black cannot be in this time. Impassability black beckon.
 We all understand – it is not necessary after all phrases. Vizbor will sing before bedtime until lights out.
 How to understand the plexus of tras? You look with your feet. Go on, God is with you.
 
 Rolling waves, biting the oar. The boards rotate with waves arguing.
 Senka, where have we gone again? Canoes and mountains, and this sea.
 I change time, I hasten life. I'm not afraid for myself as I grow older.
 Impassable, but always love, sorry, explain why, I can not.