, shaka-ta-ka-ta-ka-ta-ka-ta, i ’ll look into your eyes, okay, heart to heart reaches out, like thispalms to the sun, i will run up to the mischievous wind. all our hearts are open to us on a sunday afternoon, look, rejoice, everything is singing all around, the sun, but not the idleness, the wind of gambling blows into your eyes, i’ll look into your eyes, okay, shaka-taka-takata, and i’ll look into your eyes, ok, social palms working. moonlight snow, starry ice, as in a dream, horses flying, under the frosty blue, on a public road, brooches. in the snowstorm, the heart of the snow, the roads, an arrow was given, along the side, like a tear, on the cheek, only under the hoof. only the song flies, but you start in the common steppe, lai-la-la-la-la-lai-la-lai, but under the hooves, only the song flies, and to the frozen stivshchik, now cursing, now beckoning, as if calling in a dream. me, this is clear to the bottom, a russian song, depth, tenderness and dream, heart, purity, roads, a distant arrow, it went through itself, like... from the fox, poschike, only at home, only the song fl