Myortvyj gorod. Rozhdestvo (inglês)
(Indisponível)
Dead City Christmas
I can’t look for the answer
where each question means a bullet,
where every step is a millimeter.
Time: five cigarettes.
The dead city is burying
Its voices.
Lost and wandering
Are the skies between the walls.
Christmas came.
It’s dark in the cellar.
How many souls have been crushed
by the window across?
I’ve forgotten that in nature
There is still something left –
she gave birth on the sixth,
six minutes before six.
And then it snowed in the morning,
After a long fire.
That snow killed me;
It put out the short century.
I gathered it into the palm of my hand,
Spat into this white dirt and dust –
Could be delusion, could be reality;
Could be eternity, or simply stench.
The city shattered,
But did not become a tombstone.
The fallen city got drunk
with life before the fasting.
Shell-shocked stars here
Are waiting for the new Bethlehem;
Birch-trees are wrapped in blankets;
Never enough legs and arms for everyone.
Merry Christmas, heap of metal.
Bandages tied in a wreath –
Nurse, “Mother Theresa”
with a handsome face.
Last night, like rustle,
I remembered the days –
How you pulled the curtain closed,
How you were all by yourself.
(chorus)
I can’t look for the answer
where each question means a bullet,
where every step is a millimeter.
Time: five cigarettes.
The dead city, it’s empty eyes,
Is with me.
And I was firing blanks,
I was alive yesterday.
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