The whole night I spent reading the letters from Zarechnaya
Her pain seeped in between the lines
I, thief of stories, wrote the fate of a young girl
To Hell with my conscience- life is so short!
The whole night I spent reading letters from the actress
Thinking back to the way she trembled in my arms
Don't write anymore, you fell into my trap
And for my happiness you have forgotten your own
It's the love for truth that made me into a liar
There is no mention of loving you in my poems
I cannot stand you, nor your constant wailing
But I enjoy love-
just saying.
I screamed from my sleep when in the close-by apartement
you gave birth to a lifeless child, accused of lies
you wrote "Boris, Boris, he had the same lips as you
Boris, Boris, you should have stayed with me
Come, please, so we can bury him together
Come, please, I suffer from fevers
Come, please- I'm all alone for so much pain"
Instead of a signature, only three black dots
It's the love for truth that made me into a liar
There is no mention of loving you in my poems
I cannot stand you, nor your constant wailing
But I enjoy love-
just saying.
My body wrapped by the tentacles of Arkadina
My soul, the Seagull, flies above the lake
Or is it the other way around? You know, I tend to be fickle
I became the hostage of my fountain pen
The angels imprinted the love of God onto you
And I'm making my bed in the foyer of Hell
I will not give my life for you, Nina
Why, why haven't you run away from me
It's the love for truth that made me into a liar
There is no mention of loving you in my poems
I cannot stand you, nor your constant wailing
But I enjoy love-
just saying.
You're a short story, what you wanted to be
You are a living rebuke that cannot be soothed
You are an actress, Nina, it's not for you to fly
except maybe above the country without rain
You are the gunshot and the echo that gives the shivers
You are too loyal and I am not at all
Nina, you live, and I only describe
So please accept that
I don't love you anymore