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And my first memory with your beauty
does not sweep me,
I throw the guitar
and my father yells at me,
and my mother saying: “it’s my sinner”
and her taking me for a comforting trip
in the moonlight.
And my second memory,
your eyes do not sweep me,
I left home to the dangers of the time,
when I asked you
“will you be mine forever?”
you answerd:
“look to the moon
there’s (been) a human (on it).”
And after a year we rented a room
in front of the moon,
I began to play in a gloomy bar
on the metal workshop street.
And they screamed
“take down the shorty with the tuxedo”
And only one said:
“kid, kid, you shall yet
bring down the moon for them.”
It was such an era
that happiness came through anger,
we laughed about everything,
we burnt whatever went in our hands,
there was nothing left
but to embrace the trouble,
to say
“yesterday was good
and (so) it will be tomorrow too.”
yesterday was good,
yesterday was good
yesterday was good,
and (so) it will be tomorrow too.
It’s hard to concentrate,
for your beauty still haunts me,
it’s hard to say ‘pity’ or ‘maybe.’
Instead, I dance
and yell to the moon:
“get down.”
and I blame the world in my pain.
Sometimes I forget,
how I began in front of the moon,
when you forget yes, yes
poor you
there’s rain in the sky
no moon in the meantime,
and when it will come out,
we’l walk together until it disappears.
It was such an era…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hGiNUsSHkr0&list=PL4YpHKqsspKJDx3xkbwDTgMTiey5wjGNA
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