Когда ты устанешь держать меня и ки

Когда ты устанешь держать меня и кинешь блесну в мутный пруд, рать колосьев спелых погибнет, солнце остынет. И я уйду.
Двадцать седьмое, июнь, Лето говорит. Счистив коросту ржи с рассудка, бросив ненужный хлам на землю, я отправлю себя в другую жизнь. Надев рюкзак, завязав шнурки, взяв сигареты и пару книг, и не коснувшись твоей руки, корабль направлю на материк. И дикий пес побежит за мной, и черт, играющий на трубе. Дорогой долгой, тропой кривой, я двинусь в путь от тебя к себе. Шагая под проливным дождем, из звезд слагая свой гороскоп, тьму препарируя фонарем, сбивая головы колосков, я буду петь о своей любви, упрямо верящей в чудеса. Ботинком пыльным чеканя ритм, шагая слепо, закрыв глаза.
Когда я стану тебе чужим, и до оскомины на зубах, сожги меня, как сжигали Рим и над колодцем развей мой прах. А сердце ты закопай в лесу, где над могилой сова кричит. И я уйду, навсегда уйду. Так не ищи меня, не ищи.

Но в кабаке, допивая джин,
в объятьях девушки в юбке-клёш,
глотая джаз и табачный дым,
я буду верить,
что ты
найдешь.

Результаты (английский) 1:

When you're tired and we keep me trolling in a muddy pond, men's ears ripe will perish, the Sun cools. And I'm gone.27th June, summer said. Sčistiv korostu rye with mind, throwing useless trash on the ground, I'll post yourself in another life. Wearing a backpack, covered the laces, taking cigarettes and a couple of books, and not touching your hands, I will send a ship to the Mainland. And wild dog run behind me, and damn, playing the trumpet. Dear long, path curve, I stand down the road from you to yourself. Walking in the pouring rain from stars composing your horoscope, darkness prepariruâ lantern, knocking the head ears, I will sing about his love, stubbornly believes in miracles. Boot dusty steady rhythm, stepping blindly, closing his eyes.When I'm a stranger to you, and to oskominy on the teeth, burn me like burnt Rome and over a well spread my ashes. And the heart you dig in the forest where the OWL above the grave of screams. And I will forever go. So don't look for me, do not seek.But in the pub, drinking gin,in the embrace of a girl in a skirt-flared,ingesting jazz and tobacco smoke,I will believethat youyou will find.

Результаты (английский) 2:

When you get tired of me and keep kinesh spoon in a muddy pond, ripe ears of Men die, the sun cool. And I'm gone.
Twenty-seventh June, Summer says. Clean off with rye scab mind throwing rubbish on the ground, I send myself in another life. Wearing a backpack, tying shoelaces, took cigarettes and a couple of books, and not touching your hands, will send a ship to the mainland. And the wild dog will run after me, and the devil, who plays the trumpet. The road is long, the path of the curve, I move in the way of you to him. Walking in the rain, of the stars composing your horoscope, dissecting the dark lantern, knocking heads of ears, I will sing of your love, stubbornly believes in miracles. Dusty boots a measured rhythm, walking blindly, with his eyes closed.
When I'm a stranger to you, and soreness of the mouth to the teeth, burn me as Rome burned over the well and scatter my ashes. A heart you bury it in the woods, where the owl cries over the grave. And I'm gone, forever gone. So do not look for me, do not look. But in a tavern, finishing his gin, in the arms of a girl in a skirt, flared, swallowing jazz and tobacco smoke, I believe that you will find.

Результаты (английский) 3:

when you get tired of holding me and want to lure in a muddy pond, with ears of ripe dies, the sun will grow cold. and i"m leaving.the twenty seventh, june, summer says. счистив crusty rye with mind, leaving a bag of trash on the ground, i put myself in another life. wearing a backpack, завязав shoelaces with cigarettes and a few books, and not on your hands, the ship put in to the mainland. and the wild dog runs after me, and hell, playing the trumpet. dear long path curve, i"ll go with you. walking in the pouring rain of stars composing your horoscope, the препарируя lamp against head spikes, i would sing of his love, has been верящей in miracles. boot dusty the parade rhythm, pacing, blindly, with closed eyes.when i become a stranger to you, and оскомины teeth, burn me, burned rome and on the cast my ashes. my heart you bury him in the woods, where over the grave of owl screams. and i"m gone, forever gone. so don"t look for me, don"t look.but in the bar, just gene.in the arms of a girl in a skirt - a boot cut.,swilling jazz and tobacco smoke.i"ll believewhat are youyou"ll find.