Today I am the lyricist, and the strings
Rending it in pieces, cutting his fingers in the blood,
Sing ballads, wait a minute,
When you open the window.
It, the treacherous eye,
Closed with velvet canvas,
And he won't let my notes go,
Touch your ear.
Then you would have heard the bells,
A mile of the Nightingale's song,
And you would have smelled the tones,
Worthy of the king's feelings.
You would understand how cruel they are,
Hiding your timid shame,
Love in the fibers is too narrow,
Not always does she languish in them.
And here I will stand, strings
Torn, having cut up his fingers in the blood,
While my lantern is full moon,
Will not light up your tender eyes
TodayImalyricist
© Copyright: Алла Николаевна Гордеева, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120010303553
Свидетельство о публикации №120010303553
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