Father is a little tired now
Father has drank a little and cried
Now, Our Father is dead
The eye is shut and the heart is broken
Have the times changed now
Ask high society journalists
And the American Jesus pours more champagne and sings:
Tomorrow, he'll come
Tomorrow
I promise that
If you believe in miracles
You must wait
Like for the rising Moon
And, somewhere out there, Estragon is unhappy
Now, paint is peeling off of paintings
And songs have already run out of topics
Plays have already been acted
Chekhov too got his color tv
What now that Elvis too has left the land of our fathers?
What will we listen to
When even radios play the same shit? There, somebody sings again:
Tomorrow, he'll come
Tomorrow
I promise that
If you believe in miracles
You must wait
Like for the rising Moon
And, somewhere out there, Estragon is unhappy
I read all the books in the world
Dressed Barbie dolls in black for no reason
Surfed from one religion to another
And got energies flowing
Asceticism, casual sex, love that was sworn to be eternal
Sunk down to oceans' beds like dreams
And so
My heart is young
Though I committed adultery
Now, I believe in miracles
And am off to dance
There is only the Sun and the Moon
Everything else is futile
I do not fear death