Basta - это все Лирицс транслатион то енглисх

This is all

This is all that remains after me.
This is all that I will take with me.
This is all that remains after me.
This is all that I will take with me.
 
Everyone's gone, I am changing the font, I am going with my thoughts, just write.
It's just all gone, and I'm still alive. A flight.
Over the shelter in the rye.
It's just all gone, there is not a call nor a line,
There are no messages or anything unread in the mail.
Probably everyone is firmly connected with the past,
Because there are many things from it that disturb one's sleep at night.
Those who are as essential as the air have gone
Those - without whom this world is doomed to freeze.
They have left, as if they went into outer space,
Cutting off the wire in zero gravity.
They all left - they scattered looking for something and then why left without taking the keys with them
They left, as if it were the last departing train
They left tearing themselves up, some asked for mercy, others were proudly silent.
They left instead of being sent to their funeral
Remaining only in the footage (or shots) of front-line chronicles.
Gone, leaving the house at the mercy of the marauders.
Grief (or sorrow) to their families. Cinema - bad actors.
This is not a reproach, this is a cry of the soul,
It just happened - everyone just left.
 
This is all that remains after me.
This is all that I will take with me.
This is all that remains after me.
This is all that I will take with me.
 
There is no one here, do not look - all are gone,
Behind the peaks of unconquered peaks.
They left for forgiveness in each of one of their monasteries
Dragging heavy crosses.
They left without forgiving others for their mistakes,
Not learning to ignore fakes.
Having lost the hope of picking up the keys to the cipher,
They left as they leave in sad movies.
Just stepping out of the brackets, scattering into fragments (or pieces) in the window
everything is being explained in a letter, a few words, like footprints on a sand bar.
Leaving with us only the voices from the songs,
From old cassettes that are singing a song about spring.
They left and do not send news, sometimes they come in a dream,
They leave as an ascetic goes away to the desert, destroying the captivity of the cramped walls, removing himself from all the files.
By dew ... At dawn.
 


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