Time with no bottom of the longing,
time of pranks and frolic.
Time of a shot of vodka
when the day was too short.
The storms were bright,
the smiles were light.
Abysmal sorrows,
other people's as well as your own.
Time of orchards in the clouds,
falling in and out of love.
Time of threads in May,
little bouquets of violets.
Faintest passages,
your face from a fog of dreams.
There was a dream of what used to be,
and that time was love.
What is and what is not...
Who's life register is it?
There was a little of something,
it seemed to be more of it.
It's been barely touching
both soul and the body.
The hidden meaning of life,
spilled blues...
Time keeps changing our days,
there's time of shadow's streak,
sunken lands
and stupid beliefs.
There's time of inversion
in the long shadow's streak.
One step to and from,
time to see what's next...
Waltz, step, purpose,
the thought is still wrong,
rhapsodic theme.
Seemingly that, truthfully not,
'cause it's Kohelet tome.
As if someone, in a dance,
held us very tightly.
As if someone, from the depths,
kept an eye on us.
The blue is spilled,
the flame's gone out,
the sorrow's forgotten,
there's serenity of stars above us...
Melancholy welcomes,
but it's all in blues.
Give me your hand, dear.
Life is so beautiful...