Polyna's hands, like a forgotten song under a Firm needle.
The sounds are lazy and flying around, like dust particles, above her head.
Sleepy eyes are waiting the one, that will come in and will turn on the light in them.
Polyna’s morning lasts milliards of years.
And all those years I hear, how her breast waves.
And from her breath the panes got sweaty in the windows.
And I don’t feel soorry that, my trip is infinite like that.
In her crystal bedroom it is constantly, constantly light.
I know them, who will wait till the end, and those, who, because of his term, will die.
But it’s equally boring to go with these and with those ones.
I love you for which, your expectation is waiting that, which is impossible to happen.
Polyna’s fingers are alike the candles in the candlesticks of nights,
Polyna’s tears turned into the endless streams,
In Polyna’s room at the threshold the dawn seems indecisive,
Polyna’s morning lasts milliards of years.
And all those years I hear, how her breast waves.
And from her breath the panes got sweaty in the windows.
But I don’t feel sorry, that my trip is infinite like that.
In her crystal bedroom it is constantly, constantly light.