You're standing on the roof
Like you're floating over Earth
Above you only roofs
Only the vane is higher than the roofs.
Everywhere, he's made,
To his grave misfortune,
Of an arrow and a spinner on a nail.
He wanted so much to remain rigid
To avoid a bad rumor
But he spins left and right, alas.
How can you preserve your honor? - that's what it's about
Such an unstable thing.
Winds howled all night 'till the morning
But in the morning, it's time
To spin the other way.
Through the storm and squall, he got so tired
That he began mixing up the directions of the wind.
He kept waiting for the time when
The appointed hour would come
And everything in the world would be backwards.
And the meaning will emerge;
He himself will, one day,
Tell the wind where to go,
where to blow.
But the time has come
And it snowed so hard, that the weather vane got shaken
And fell off of the spike.
Dreaming of good,
In the wintertime,
He perished in January
In someone else's yard.
Believe it or not
But I know for sure
That in the city, since then, there's no wind.
It's a simple secret:
There's no point in blowing
When nobody spins back.