| The city is waiting for a purple wind today
|
| If someone does not come, I am not responsible.
|
| My heart will enter into an afterburner rhythm,
|
| The heart will melt the ice, melt the bitumen
|
| And pour words into your empty heart.
|
| Chorus:
|
| Stand here, arms apart, so that your eyes rest on the wall,
|
| Get up and look right through. |
| Get up gradually
|
| By the power of thought, the power of words, the force of gravity in spite
|
| And to the envy of everyone, you alone were brought to heaven.
|
| A hundred meters above the ground - there are completely different birds,
|
| A hundred meters above the ground - look below the empty faces.
|
| And the humpbacked and pockmarked one tears his vest, rushes into battle,
|
| There are so many people in this city who want to be you.
|
| The city burns in the fire of dull anger,
|
| Delirious, as if half asleep, and crap in the sky.
|
| Sluggish and angry people, they want wings,
|
| The sky does not wait for him, but still pour out rhymes
|
| And words in his empty heart.
|
| Chorus:
|
| Stand here, arms apart, so that your eyes rest on the wall,
|
| Get up and look right through. |
| Get up gradually
|
| By the power of thought, the power of words, the force of gravity in spite
|
| And to the envy of everyone, you alone were brought to heaven.
|
| A hundred meters above the ground - there are completely different birds,
|
| A hundred meters above the ground - look below the empty faces.
|
| And the humpbacked and pockmarked one tears his vest, rushes into battle,
|
| There are so many people in this city who want to be you. |