We were sitting in the waiting room because it was raining and chilling outside
|
There was still a long time to go to the train
|
So you can drink a coffee or eat something
|
Because no one knows when a man is stuffing the burrow again
|
Then we hear the clatter of the wheels and the whistling of the locomotives
|
So we rush to the platforms
|
But where the loudspeakers stopped, screeching and screeching stopped
|
- It's not your train! |
The loudspeakers announced
|
We believed the megaphones
|
After all, they kindly warned us
|
Why stand on the platform in the rain
|
Since there is still time to come
|
The food ended quickly, and boredom threatened us
|
We started to nap, dream and flirt
|
Someone was playing guitar, they hummed here and there
|
Our heads weighed heavily on our backs
|
Then we hear the clatter of the wheels and the whistling of the locomotives
|
So let us rise sluggishly from our seats
|
But in our place, the loudspeakers were stopped by a screeching screeching sound
|
- It's not your train! |
They said through a megaphone
|
We believed the megaphones
|
To dream warm - a good thing
|
Why stand on the platform in the rain
|
Instead of a soft armchair, I fly
|
After the dreams, it was the girls' turn and a sip
|
Which made us forget about waiting
|
Meanwhile, outside the windows of the "enta", it was already dawn
|
And we felt a bit cheated
|
So when we heard the clatter of wheels again, we heard a whistle
|
We pulled together and continued to the platforms
|
But we were stopped at the threshold by the already familiar screech and squeak
|
- It's not your train! |
The loudspeakers announced
|
We believed the megaphones
|
After all, it wasn't that bad for us
|
Why stand on the platform in the rain
|
Where the wind blows on all sides
|
We were struck like a thunderbolt, we finally looked into the circle
|
Though many, many dawns have passed
|
And we look into the old eyes, stopping the trembling of our hands
|
Amazed where our life has gone
|
We run to the platforms, but there is rust on the tracks
|
Hen semaphores near the forest
|
No train will take us from this waiting room anymore
|
Unnecessary loudspeakers are silent now
|
And we looked bitterly
|
Into distant pages taken from us
|
And we cursed in our souls
|
That easy faith in megaphones |