Вахтёрам [Vahteram] [English translation]

You don't like the smoke, to hell with it,

It kills the words, makes you dizzy,

The word's already on the streets

That we're having this thing.

What can I say to you, we've lost the thread,

I must stop be someone else and go sleep at home.

We can't be measured by a naked eye, but now

Why are we hitting the brakes, not the gas?

Eternal question of why and what for,

I'm slowly losing my mind, you aren't alone,

And what about those Crimean nights,

I'll later pass it on to him if we meet.

Your squeaky voice is like an electric shock,

It is your fault that I'm drunk without wine,

And now the country will know before darkness falls,

They'll be informed of it all via FM waves.

I remember

White wallpaper, black dishes,

Only two of us in the building, who are we, where from?

Drapes drawn shut, coffee and buns untouched…

Now do explain me, porters,

Why am I so stuck on her?

Let's keep sitting like this till the dawn,

Wait, don't leave – but I have to go,

And if there's only one exit ahead

Why do we blow hot and cold?

I'm tired of putting things back in place,

Of turning back time, here we go again,

Your touch was melting the metal in me,

You must be the element no. 5.

This time the game is coming to the end

And you're still silent, I do the talk,

In fifteen minutes the morning will rise,

Don't call the cab, I'll catch one myself and leave.

Let's patch things up and forget,

Delete the numbers from our cells,

But I have no strength leaving without asking

Let's try and glue it all back again.

White wallpaper, black dishes...