Север Га - Птица-Река - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

The wind drives the clouds from the south.

A quiet bird-rush is asleep.

I was looking for wild fir trees,

Meril Mili, with an arrow - secure the rocks.

The rivers are noisy, streams are filled, tearing stones, water rushes in an eternal stream. Arrows with the plumage of the forest, rising along the mountain range, parting again.