| You are for the first time in winter on the Riga seaside,
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| You hardly believe in freedom,
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| Deserted beach, military sanatorium -
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| And on the scoreboard: "Weather number two"!
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| Weather number two, fog spells,
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| They steal the sound from the step, the horizon from the look
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| They create and dissolve seagulls in the sky,
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| Winter on the sea tweed season.
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| Look, a fugitive, a blind sun over gray water.
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| Tweed season. |
| The surf is crisp with ice at your feet.
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| And the seagulls, crying, catch bread.
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| Their weeping sounds in your nights.
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| After all, you are so lonely again as before.
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| Frost and algae. |
| The fog is endless
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| The beach is deserted - there is no reason to swim!
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| The sand is covered with snow, where you were so drunk in the summer, so tender.
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| Tweed season!
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| But you need not be so desperately sad.
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| Not at all delighted with the weather number two.
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| Look at the sea and listen to the seagulls.
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| You will distinguish the words:
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| Chorus:
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| Look, I'm a seagull, I'm riding the waves,
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| The salty wind and the surf play with me,
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| But I know a magical cry, it will sound in your nights,
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| And a gray bird will fly after you, after you...
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| Look, I am a seagull, I am riding the waves.
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| The salty wind and the surf play with me.
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| But I know the magic cry
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| it will sound in your nights
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| And a gray bird will fly after you, |