Текст песни Игорь Наджиев - Русский офицер

Words - A Belyanin

Budapest autumn.
Frosted branches.
People look mow,
Looks inhospitable.
Frankly frown,
Looks like the sight.
On the streets of the Hungarian
Russian officer.

Chorus.
No reproach or pity,
Not an empty question.
Pressed against the Order
Flames of white roses.
Imaginary or past,
But he knows the goal.
Waiting for your favorite
Russian officer.

Who, what, where?
It does not need it.
Tolley believes in miracles,
Tolley dreaming.
Warrior-winner
He looks and silent.
Dark blue jacket
Is this billboard?

Chorus.
No reproach or pity,
Not an empty question.
Pressed against the Order
Flames of white roses.
Imaginary or past,
But he knows the goal.
Waiting for your favorite
Russian officer.

In Budapeshete autumn.
Frosted branches.
People look mow,
Looks inhospitable.
Frankly frown,
Looks like the sight.
On the streets of the Hungarian
Russian officer.

Chorus. And 2-fold.
No reproach or pity,
Not an empty question.
Pressed against the Order
Flames of white roses.
Imaginary or past,
But he knows the goal.
Waiting for your favorite
Russian officer.