With sorrow, irritates the heart
This town, this place
Not a widow and not a bride
Amongst dirty-yellow walls
At night, on the concrete floor
With tears of mild salt
A clot of terrors of a woman's fate
Will jump out as a spark from the eyes
A kiss, and straight into the waters
A queen considers its colour - home
Sometimes its crown
Pulls into the depths, like a stone
The day shone in dangerous steel
Of angry, shabby tramways
And the soul does not want to get frightened
As an oriole, flies south