| Wings open from the throat like a moth
|
| After a hundred, kindness covers you
|
| Up to three hundred you still regret that the Russians are a drinking people,
|
| And from zero five this can be forgiven and understood
|
| And such grace in the soul
|
| It is possible to live here, if only you know how
|
| And with the device lie down and lie down under the whip,
|
| But always smile and sing
|
| And never, never, never, never get sober
|
| And never, never, never, never...
|
| At ten years old, it's too early to study this slippery subject
|
| At twenty-five it's too late to start
|
| By forty you become a wise mentor of the young
|
| And before a hundred you don’t sober up a damn thing, and such nonsense all around
|
| It is possible to live here, if only you know how
|
| And sew a suit and creak with a prosthesis,
|
| But always smile and sing
|
| And never, never, never, never get sober
|
| It is possible to live here, if only you know how
|
| To extinguish without firefighters, to endure without anesthesia,
|
| But always smile and sing
|
| And never, never, never, never get sober
|
| Freeze in plain sight, in a crazy crowd
|
| And only you can hear the music, dance
|
| Like a scientist bear
|
| And never, never, never, never get sober
|
| And never, never, never, never
|
| And never, never, never, never get sober
|
| And never, never, never, never get sober
|
| And never, never, never, never get sober
|
| And never, never, never, never |