Our stories don't repeat themselves.
And our passions become whispers of the leaves.
Only allegories remain for us,
Allegories of our ephemeral, broken happiness.
As they leave us, we'll be touched for the last time
By familiar songs, by forgotten fairy tales.
Our union is at Uprising Square,1
Where the clown's mask hides a sorrowful face.
We won't get older on those photos.
We'll remain the same in the books we read.
Around us are special effects and 3D graphics.
Prose is more common and poetry more rare.
As they leave us, we'll be touched for the last time
By familiar songs, by forgotten fairy tales.
Our union is at Uprising Square,
Where the clown's mask hides a sorrowful face.
As they leave us, we'll be touched for the last time
By familiar songs, by forgotten fairy tales.
Our union is at Uprising Square,
Where the clown's mask hides a sorrowful face.
1. A square in St. Petersburg, Russia