Прости..Такое чувство будто один.Мы

Прости..Такое чувство будто один.
Мы незаметно оба грустим.
Это твой жанр, это твой стиль,
Твоё оружие против моих сил.
Мой город стих, и ноты на стих
И этот час дремоты настиг
Здрасте...здрасте..Это ли не счастье? Но...
Душа летела над лужами,
Но не апрелем простужен был.
Твоим смертельным оружием
Видимо сам я себя убил.

Результаты (английский) 1:

Forgive me..The feeling that one.
We imperceptibly both are sad.
is your genre, this is your style, your weapons against my
.
my town verse, and notes on the verse
and this hour slumber overtook
to say hello ...I..Is this not happiness? But ...
Soul flew over lužami,
but not April time.
your deadly weapon
Apparently he killed himself I.

Результаты (английский) 2:

I'm sorry .. It feels like one.
we both grieve silently.
This is your genre, this is your style,
Your weapon against my strength.
My city verse, and notes on the verse
And this hour nap overtook
Good morning ... hello .. Is not happiness? But ...
The soul flew over puddles,
but was not a cold April.
thy deadly weapon
Apparently I myself killed himself.

Результаты (английский) 3:

They have sinned..the feeling that one.
We quietly both грустим.
this is your style, this is your style,
thy weapons against my forces.
my city verse, and note on the verse
and sealeth their instruction this hour настиг
Здрасте ... здрасте..is that not happiness? But ...
Soul flew over splash or overspray from,
but not persecuted doctor was.
thy fatal weapons
perhaps i itself killed.