| And over Marat, as then, gray doves fly,
|
| They scurry around the white columns of the Arctic Museum.
|
| I remember the years in which it was not cold,
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| When our dreams were wrapped in candy wrappers.
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| Our youth dabbled in the guitar - a fun time,
|
| And everyone on this street recognizes me.
|
| And from the market pulls fresh herbs and sunflower oil,
|
| But to see you, you have to close your eyes.
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| I don't want to get old, I don't want to
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| The case smelled of grandchildren,
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| Come to me for a little
|
| As then alleys.
|
| I don't want to get old, I don't want to
|
| But the days are shorter than the rainbow,
|
| Come to me for a little
|
| And stay for a long time.
|
| And along Marat, as then, pot-bellied trams fly,
|
| They rush to Kolokolnaya, in the other direction,
|
| From the house where you live above the river with slightly stale water,
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| Five minutes walk, but at the other end of the city.
|
| Fatal fate, fatal,
|
| Happiness with old age fell out.
|
| For whom, tell me, for whom
|
| I wrote songs hoarse.
|
| My ball flew away, flew away
|
| In the sky, like myself, hazy.
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| My beauty, beauty
|
| My pure maiden...
|
| And along Marat, as then, ordinary citizens are walking,
|
| Some are warm here, some are cold.
|
| And here you once lived, not knowing the most important,
|
| At the St. Petersburg address of sir Woland.
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| Ice drift under your window
|
| But the stairs are empty
|
| On which the cat Behemoth
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| Played yellow for a month.
|
| And the dark cloak disappeared into the night,
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| Merged with the gateway.
|
| You cry secretly, you cry ...
|
| Time is irreversible.
|
| But I'll fly through the past
|
| In a black carriage with songs.
|
| Come to me for a little
|
| I'll be at the old place.
|
| And I'll take the cat with me
|
| To lay down at your feet.
|
| Come to me for a little
|
| And stay forever.
|
| I'll take the cat with me
|
| To lay down at your feet.
|
| Come to me for a little
|
| And stay forever.
|
| And stay forever. |