The candle burned on the table, the candle burned in memory of an outstanding violinist The bow began to sing. And the cloud is stuffy He stood over us. And nightingales We dreamed about it. And the camp is obedient Slid into my arms ... Not a nightingale - the violin sang, When the string broke All around she sobbed and rang As in a spring grove, silence ... How is it in the sobbing sounds The May thunderstorm entered ... Fearful hands drew closer And burned the adjacent eyes ... The bow began to sing. And the cloud is stuffy He stood over us. And nightingales We dreamed about it. And the camp is obedient Slid into my arms ... Not a nightingale - the violin sang, When the string broke All around she sobbed and rang As in a spring grove, silence ... How is it in the sobbing sounds The May thunderstorm entered ... Fearful hands drew closer And burned the adjacent eyes ...
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