| I dreamed of my mother's old scarf,
|
| Wings silk to him, suddenly, the wind unleashed,
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| And dragged a bird behind him under a cloud,
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| And accompanied me on a long journey,
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| That autumn he saw off.
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| I dreamed of smoky fog nights,
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| Autumn carried dry dust on the ground,
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| There, spinning in it, hoarsely tore the strings,
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| And suffocated in this dream of his,
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| Dreaming of spring.
|
| Chorus:
|
| Lonely memory dances
|
| In the sky with an old scarf,
|
| disturbed bird,
|
| This dream does not pass.
|
| Every night I dream of him
|
| Breaks into the soul more and more
|
| disturbed bird
|
| The look of my mother.
|
| And the snowstorm howls and whines like a she-wolf,
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| Bitter share in the open field for many years,
|
| And dreams, somewhere there, the mother is still standing,
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| And in the sky the handkerchief does not melt a trace,
|
| The trace does not melt in the sky.
|
| Chorus:
|
| Lonely memory dances
|
| In the sky with an old scarf,
|
| disturbed bird,
|
| This dream does not pass.
|
| Every night I dream of him
|
| Breaks into the soul more and more
|
| disturbed bird
|
| The look of my mother.
|
| Lonely memory dances
|
| In the sky with an old scarf,
|
| disturbed bird,
|
| This dream does not pass.
|
| Every night I dream of him
|
| Breaks into the soul more and more
|
| disturbed bird
|
| The look of my mother. |