Ireen Grigor - The colour of the moths | Текст песни

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• Ireen Grigor
• The colour of the moths

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Tonight this deaf season becomes.
Watch them arriving from the dark;
Tiny wings are made of grey,
They are criminals as the press say.
Moths come with the surf.
Boys with swards, girls with nets.
Foaming water, silver ashes -
The year of moths.

So familiar.

I guess we saw it some time earlier.
Can you remember? Can you remember?

Remembrance makes us sad,
Their crimes are very bad.
It's time to go to bed,
But I can't take my eyes from the cigarette.

So familiar, it reminds me of them -
The same grey colour,
Like the colour of the moths.