Текст песни
My friend, my friend
I'm very, very sick
I don't know where this pain came from
Or the wind is whistling
Over an empty and deserted field
It's like a grove in September
Alcohol showers the brains
My head is waving my ears
Like a bird with its wings
She has legs on her neck
I can't do it anymore
Black man
Black, black
Black man
He sits down on my bed
Black man
It doesn't let me sleep all night
Black man
Runs his finger over a nasty book
And, gnawing at me
Like a monk over the deceased
Life reads to me
Some kind of tail and zabuldyga
Catching up with longing and fear on the soul
Black man
Black, black
Listen, listen
He mutters to me
There are many beautiful things in the book
Thoughts and plans
This person
Lived in the country
The most disgusting
Thunder and charlatans
In December in that country
The snow is pure to the devil
And blizzards start
Cheerful spins
There was a man who was an adventurer
But the highest
And the best brand
He was elugated
Besides, the poet
At least with a small
But with grasping force
And some woman
Forty-year-old
Called a nasty girl
And with your sweet one
Black man
He sits down on my bed
Black man
It doesn't let me sleep all night
Black man
Runs his finger over a nasty book
And, gnawing at me
Like a monk over the deceased
Life reads to me
Some kind of tail and zabuldyga
Catching up with longing and fear on the soul
Black man
Black, black
