If I got paid every time, every time I’m thinking about you,
I’d be a hobo wandering near highways, I’d become the poorest of all people.
If I got paid every time, every time I’m thinking about you,
I’d be a hobo wandering near highways, I’d become the poorest of all people.
Where are you, when you’re not online; when I’m waiting for you in the Net;
Which links should I follow, just to find the right place?
What are you thinking about now? Let’s read your favorite story
Under the dense foliage of birches; one page for you, and one for me.
Or you’ll come over and we’ll just drink tea, and WhatsApp is filled with hearts,
But I’m not responding again, I’m an invisible louse; but,
My dear, if I got paid every time I’m seeing your wistful glance
Somewhere past me, every time I see you in my dreams…
If I got paid every time, every time I’m thinking about you,
I’d be a hobo wandering near highways, I’d become the poorest of all people.
If I got paid every time, every time I’m thinking about you,
I’d be a hobo wandering near highways, I’d become the poorest of all people.
Water boiling for us on the old hotplate, there’s one teabag for two.
It’s dark outside, there’s a crack in the window. The moon like a light bulb over the park.
I’m twisting a lock of hair on my finger again, smelling like mom’s perfume.
You want me, to undress, undress, undress*, and I want to write poems, poems.
Go away and don’t finish your tea. Whether it’s snowing or raining, just go.
I don’t care if you’ll get all wet, I don’t care if you’ll be blown away by tornado.
Maybe, you still can catch your tram; maybe not, go anyway.
There’s snowy gray February outside, and now it’s alone just like you.
And I feel no pity, no pity, no pity for you, despite there’s slowmo in the cigarette smoke.
Even if there was a sound of grand piano minor keys, even of a sad violin – just no.
If you didn’t like poems, I’d turn into a sonorous iambus.
If you were a drug, I’d become a fitness fanatic.
If I got paid every time, every time I’m thinking about you,
I’d be a hobo wandering near highways, I’d become the poorest of all people.
If I got paid every time, every time I’m thinking about you,
I’d be a hobo wandering near highways, I’d become the poorest of all people.