Ostaje mi to što se volimo [English translation]

My childhood friend lives happily at the countryside,

Like in a Russian novel, exactly so

He's got a wife and a son,

A cellar full of wine,

And no worries in life

Lately I've gotten to see him rarely,

Mostly only when he's celebrating something

But he doesn't ask much

Offers his hand and says

"You haven't come over in a long time"

And we remember the days when we still used to be wild, as quick deer

And the closer we're getting to truth and sorrow, the closer we're getting to the next litre

[Chorus:]

I ask him if he knows

That you've left, that you've left...

"Well sure", says he, "she had another, you know..."

And I ask him if he knows

That we love each other, still love each other...

"Oh lucky you", grumbles he, "sometimes you're like a child, pretty much..."

My childhood friend sees life narrow mindedly,

He sees sky and the ground

Oh he's right

I am a damned poet,

Standing out in the rain,

Lying and loving...

And though we did study the same rough school of life,

We are, at times, distant...

But that's natural

Everyone carries within their own little God of a certain kind, praying to him secretly...

And we remember the days when we used to flee the wind, as frantic roans...

And the closer we're getting to truth and sorrow the closer we're getting to the next glass

[Chorus:]

I ask him what now, when you've left,

When you've left...

"Oh big deal", says he, "there are so many like her..."

But I ask him if he knows

That we love each other, that we still love each other...

"Oh nonsense", grumbles he, "pass the pitcher, old friend..."

My childhood friend

Had got married unripe

But he was lucky...

I, well, wasn't...

I've kissed all sorts,

Some completely frivolous,

Some completely alien...

And it seems to me...

That there's no way for me to picture you for him,

The one and only you...

So I drown in wine this whole world

For in a glass there's space for all kinds of things...

And so I make sure to bring back the childhood topic, and of the stallions of sweaty croup...

And the closer we're getting to truth and sorrow the closer we're getting to the next sip

I ask him if he knows

That it's irrelevant

That you've left

"Alright, then", says he, "and what are you left with now?"

"Well I'm left with our love, still with our love..."

"Is it wine or", grumbles he, "but this is getting ridiculous..."

I'm left with our love, our love...