| Without prohibitions and traces,
|
| On asphalt burning tires,
|
| From the nightmare of cities
|
| Cars are rushing out of the city,
|
| And bulky like tanks
|
| Fords, Lincolns, Seleniums,
|
| elegant mustangs,
|
| Mercedes, Citroen.
|
| As if they know - the game is worth the candle,
|
| It will be like a blood feud against the cities!
|
| Hurry, just don't burn the candles,
|
| Carburetor, and what else do they have in there.
|
| And the canvas is not visible,
|
| Limousines, limousines...
|
| Among them, like two spots,
|
| Two beautiful cars
|
| As if tied with a rope
|
| (And where it is thin, it breaks there).
|
| Accelerators, suction
|
| There is no more business.
|
| As if they know - the game is worth the candle,
|
| If only to break out - they will pay all the bills.
|
| Well, maybe he will give her a speech
|
| On the klaxon, and what else do they have there.
|
| It's a bunch of cars
|
| Holds a grudge against you.
|
| Light gray limousine!
|
| Don't lose sight of her!
|
| Ahead - look - a junction!
|
| More risk, more faith!
|
| You'll be late! |
| And there is…
|
| You procrastinated, light grey!
|
| They knew - the game is worth the candle,
|
| And now - what are the billboards honking?
|
| Well, maybe the mountain is off his shoulders
|
| Or from the hood, and what else they have there.
|
| No, the fork is like trouble,
|
| Arrows apart - and you are not here.
|
| Really never
|
| Do the crossings bring us closer?
|
| This one converges, one
|
| And, turning on the seventh speed,
|
| Light gray limousine
|
| Forgot to hit the brakes.
|
| Well, move in, empty dreams?
|
| Or is it a blood feud against the cities?
|
| Rolled wheels, bridges
|
| And hearts, or whatever else they have in there. |