Wading through the rivers of the cold tarmac
I glance over my shoulder just to tease my luck
And see my death - it's always one step behind.
Buying some bread for my evening meal
I see it in the cobwebs along the windowsill,
My hunger, it's watching me through the blinds.
People scurry shivering from cold
With deaths on their heels, so creepy to behold,
Deaths follow like ducklings behind their ducks.
And through this sooty rain, above the foggy gloom
I feel its frosty breath, I see the winter loom
And somewhere inside this fog I am lost and stuck.
This eery home of mine has rounded stairs of utter madness
And splendid moulded ceilings, high to no one's joy.
This journey tends to take me weeks or even years
But here's the worn up doorstep and so in I go.
My madness comes to greet me, gentle and refined,
Approaches me so light, so airy, softly prancing,
And rising on its toes like graceful ballet dancer
It lands a kiss at both my eyes and I turn blind.
My madness has these fragile, frail musician's hands,
Semitrasparent like a sweet, ripe golden apple
But their friendly hug turns quickly into grapple,
There is no way for me to put it to an end.
And there I go again to you.
Those who love St.Petersburg aren't so keen on senses,
They don't seem to care too much for precious health of mind.
And across the leaden sky the city spreads its saplings
Like a vicious poison plant, alluring and unkind.
And there I go again right down your track…