Наивна эта вера в чудеса, И все смешнее...

This belief in miracles is naive
And it’s getting funnier over the years,
Sails have long decayed somewhere,
Beautiful and scarlet, like a flame ...
... and in a stuffy passage in the bustle

musician plays the old violin
your requiem for happiness and dream ...
plays for pennies and smiles.
Funny strange sadness to someone
And in the bustle of grief is not so noticeable ...
And he increasingly sees at night
forgotten city, ships and sea ...
And the screams of seagulls and the distant light
And someone’s image, ghostly and unsteady ...
And a girl who is no more ...-
There is a woman with a sad smile ...
This belief in miracles is naive ...
And the expectation of happiness is patient ...
Eyes wearily look into the darkness
The eyes of the forgotten and the eyes of loved ones ...
And the night is full of sadness to the brim
And somewhere there, the wind cries over the sea ...
But the musician plays and sings
That happiness is somewhere in the world ...
... fragile and unsteady faith in miracles,
When deceit and dirt are everywhere ... everywhere ...
But look into the soul children's eyes
With a simple and eternal expectation of a miracle ...