| Will the bell ring in the soul,
|
| Will a string sing under the heart,
|
| The evening will become clearer and louder
|
| And suddenly there is silence on the floor.
|
| Pieces will fly like sparks
|
| And longing will burn like gunpowder,
|
| Wicked thoughts fly away
|
| And the earth will suddenly wake up slightly.
|
| Chorus:
|
| Get the guitar, yeah yeah
|
| Get the guitar, give-give-give-give
|
| Yeah, turn it on, yeah yeah
|
| Yes, pour a glass, give-give-give-give.
|
| Get the guitar, yeah yeah
|
| Let's sing brother
|
| Or we'll turn sour, yes, yes
|
| Yes, we will die of longing.
|
| The gates will creak at the entrance,
|
| Will the bells jingle in the distance,
|
| It will become brighter from the fiery song,
|
| And the neighbors will understand and forgive.
|
| They will come to us and sing and play,
|
| As in the old days and years,
|
| And hearts, like ice floes, will thaw
|
| And sorrows will go away like water.
|
| Chorus:
|
| Get the guitar, yeah yeah
|
| Get the guitar, give-give-give-give
|
| Yeah, turn it on, yeah yeah
|
| Yes, pour a glass, give-give-give-give.
|
| Get the guitar, yeah yeah
|
| Let's sing brother
|
| Or we'll turn sour, yes, yes
|
| Yes, we will die of longing.
|
| Get the guitar, yeah yeah
|
| Get the guitar, give-give-give-give
|
| Yeah, turn it on, yeah yeah
|
| Yes, pour a glass, give-give-give-give
|
| Get the guitar, yeah yeah
|
| Let's sing brother
|
| Or we'll turn sour, yes, yes
|
| Yes, we will die of longing.
|
| Or we'll turn sour, yes, yes
|
| Yes, we will die of longing. |