Well, that's all for now. There is only one song left. To what you and I got. A very thin line. About the fact that in the river of life Our flow was not so small. And although we sang not skillfully, But you will not confuse anyone. Yes, we got a different way, And we wrote what you Alla Pugacheva did not sing. And those who are behind her About the fact that conscience is not a commodity, About the fact that the truth is a ray of light, And not a forgotten newspaper And not erased words. The voices of friends who left More and more often lure and disturb. And we will have to take off too. Already the strip is ready. It would be faster to get on the wing Of the chicks of the unfertilized flocks. They will sing to you without stuttering All that we did not succeed. And so the concert ends, All the life that was preparing for us, Which was interrupted by times, But which took place in the end. Where are we with you, eye to eye, Solved strange tasks. And despite the failure, We still had something to say. Oh, how beautiful the moment when Void of nylon, of metal, Seven strings, as if seven fires, Explode the soul forever. And above you, even at the top, You grow at least a little. It's a pity that the song is left Only one for the passage.