| 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. |