| I sat by the dim lamp until late,
|
| Remembering the old smell of distant places,
|
| I walked through the blue twilight without a bottom,
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| Returning to the painted entrance.
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| Someone was waiting for me, or maybe not waiting,
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| Left, like a flag, an unlocked door,
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| Someone knew about everything, and maybe did not know,
|
| And now...
|
| Under the belly of the bridge
|
| We drank wine with her
|
| Could be up to a hundred years
|
| We kiss but
|
| Short river route
|
| "Khvanchkara" is over
|
| It's late, and they're waiting at home -
|
| It's time...
|
| Along the Moscow River and the sleepy Kremlin
|
| I slide through the empty space of pavements,
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| And the traffic lights don't look at me
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| With the indifference of guards at the weekend.
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| The mother-of-pearl tan of the city
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| Covers the burning sunrise
|
| And I think it's always been like this
|
| Always that year.
|
| Under the belly of the bridge
|
| We drank wine with her
|
| Could be up to a hundred years
|
| We kiss but
|
| Short river route
|
| "Khvanchkara" is over
|
| It's late, and they're waiting at home -
|
| It's time...
|
| There will be new winters and springs carousel
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| Swim repeatedly past us,
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| Will sing around, grow old, make the bed
|
| And wait, God will give ...
|
| And the heavenly calculator for a moment
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| It will not go astray, and moments, like wine,
|
| He counts and spills what he cannot contain,
|
| And here it is...
|
| Under the belly of the bridge
|
| We drank wine with her
|
| Could be up to a hundred years
|
| We kiss but
|
| Short terrestrial route,
|
| "Khvanchkara" is over
|
| If they are not waiting anywhere -
|
| It's time... |