The roof of December is getting darker
While the midnight storms are ringing.
Oh, don't ask me questions,
Just provide me with a shelter.
Mud on the boots is getting harder,
Oh, how it could be possible to be the last of us?
And the cracking of tile draws a copper wheeze from the throat:
And so he tells her: "Sister, I've been on this war for long,
When you drink this wine of yours, I feel the blood with my palate -
There are enough of silver and salt, and smells of burning in this war,
Our guys lie in the trenches under the cloud tracks"
So it turned out, I am still alive,
Or it's not me alive anymore?
She's not looking at him -
The offspring of December.
And our landing into the sunset
Was so beautiful and formidable -
I will finish my drink, it's time to go back,
Remember, the war is raging on.
And so he tells her: "Sister, I've been on this war for so long,
When you drink this wine of yours, I feel the blood with my palate -
There are enough of silver and salt, and smells of burning in this war,
Our guys lie in the trenches under the cloud tracks"
And he tells her more: "Sister, it seems that I know nothing about the war,
I still have not grasped the mathematical formation of our fire ships,
And maybe tomorrow I'll look into the face of the war
And inhale its rage,
There'll be only a hole in the soil or the hole in the sky left instead of me".
So here he tells her: "Sister, I have no place to go back but the war,
Thank you, listen, I really felt warm today with you,
When you are surrounded by the fire, you don't remember the taste of wine, and so you don't know the taste of guilt..."
And he goes back into the night, half-dragging his wing.