There's white snow, grey ice
on the cracked ground.
Like a patchwork blanket on it
there's a city in a road circuit.
And there are clouds floating over the city
blocking the heavenly light.
And there's yellow smoke over the city,
the city is two thousand years old,
the years having been lived beneath the light of the star
the name of which is Sun.
And for two thousand years there's been a war,
the war for no particular reasons.
A war is the matter of the young,
an anti-wrinkle medicine.
There's red - red blood,
in an hour it is just the ground,
in two ones it is covered with flowers and grass,
in three ones it's alive again
and is warmed by the rays of the star
the name of which is Sun.
And we know it's always been this way,
that much more loved by the destiny is the one
who lives by the other laws
and who is destined to die being young.
He doesn't remember the word "yes" and the word "no",
he does remember neither ranks nor names,
and he's able to reach the stars
never considering it a dream,
and to fall down being burned by the star the name of which is Sun.