One summer, from the ends of the earth,
I was driving down a gray road.
I am a traveler, I live because of this.
She only raised that finger of hers
and I stopped (the car) and opened (the door) for her.
She was an angel, with one flaw - without wings, my dream, my
Ilona, I still remember your name,
happy and alone, all in fairy tales,
where is now Peter Pan, and all those boys?
Ilona, your picture is my icon.
And as soon as I get up, I wink at it
and always start the day this way.
I push my way well through a turbulent life
and although I live quite happily,
I have no one in particular
with whom I would be both happy and crazy
and so calm and confident everywhere,
I don't have anyone who would imagine and tell me all sorts of things all night like my
Ilona, I still remember your name,
happy and alone, all in fairy tales,
where is now Peter Pan, and Captain Hook?
Ilona, your picture is a kind of my little icon.
And as soon as I get up, I wink at it
and always start the day this way.
I'm a poor talker, I'm just not skilled at it,
but now words are coming by themselves.
Oh, life is writing a cruel drama:
I know some details, little things about her ,
but I don't know the address, phone number,
or something similar by which I could find out where she is exactly.
Ilona, I still remember your name,
happy and alone, all in fairy tales,
where is now Peter Pan, and all those boys?
Ilona, your picture is a kind of my little icon.
And as soon as I get up, I wink at it
and always start the day this way.
Pretty doll, good day...