Примета [Primeta] [English translation]

Verse 1

Autumn painted braids gold,

Lost her power to grey-haired winter,

We stepped from the good thing into the darkness,

Shortened the novel to a story,

Yeah, as heaven would have it.

Chorus:

The truth doesn't hurt anymore,

Three times over the left shoulder, and to hell!

It's true! Go away, and still

Don't kiss me across the threshold - it's bad luck!

Verse 2

I came into your life, no,

I broke into, having left you no right to choice,

I couldn't be unloved by you,

You won, playing without rules, but having never

Become my destiny.

Chorus:

The truth doesn't hurt anymore,

Three times over the left shoulder, and to hell!

It's true! Go away, and still

Don't kiss me across the threshold - it's bad luck!

Having never become my destiny.

Chorus:

The truth doesn't hurt anymore,

Three times over the left shoulder, and to hell!

It's true! Go away, and still

Don't kiss me across the threshold - it's bad luck!