Just like in “The Four Seasons” of Vivaldi
the light in your eyes is getting darker.
Tell me, my life, something nice,
don’t rush that much, let me rest for a while.
Life, life is a novel,
which never gets you bored.
Yesterday a white, white veil,
today grey, grey hair.
Life, life is a novel,
sometimes nice, sometimes hostile.
At times you want to pour out your heart,
but there’s no one to whom you can do it.
Every family is like a tree,
it can break, wobble and changes in time.
Just like in “The Four Seasons” of Vivaldi -
a hint of trance, a sip of anguish.
Life, life is a novel,
which never gets you bored.
Yesterday a white, white veil,
today grey, grey hair.
Life, life is a novel,
which like a river puts you in the vortex.
You would like to know the future today,
but you have to wait for the answer.
Life, life is a novel,
which never gets you bored.
Yesterday a white, white veil,
today grey, grey hair.
Life, life is a novel,
which like a river puts you in the vortex.
You would like to know the future today,
but you have to wait for the answer.