The portrait of one beautiful lady is imprinted deep in my soul,
Her eyes look towards the days gone by,
It's nice there, no one is unwanted, a fear has lost power forever,
And all have forgiven each other a long time ago.
The lofty choir still sings the laudatory songs in her honоr,
And all musicians are dressed in ceremonial blazers,
But with every note, my God, music of another type is healing,
And the conductor is breaking the baton in his hands.
I won't complain about my fate with the hasty and wasted tears,
But that's what I sadden sometimes:
Really, gentlemen, who we are in comparison with that beautiful lady,
And also our life and our ladies?
And nowadays, it's very possible, she is kind to me, like before,
And heaven is kind to her for that,
She writes me letters, I'm sure, but postmen have got older,
And all addresses have long since changed.