I opened an envelope
With thrilling and icy fingers,
And there was a piece of hope
In cocktail of blood and “Chivas».
I hoped that it was from her,
My lady, who lived in cloudlets.
I don’t love her anymore,
Like sun doesn’t love the sunsets,
Like ice doesn’t love the warm,
Like flowers can’t stand the winter.
I don’t love her anymore…
I opened with trembling fingers.
She said: «First of all must go
Your smell upon my pillow.
Be silence, but let me know
Is it myself in mirror?
Is it my hand, my voice?
Where are my lips and eyebrows?
You didn’t leave a choice.
Be just with me, be silence.
I used to love you more,
Then I love plains and cloudlets.
Don’t ever let me go.
You are my sun. I’m – sunset.
Down on my paradise,
Down on my knees I’m begging:
Always be in my eyes.
May be we’ll have the wedding.
May be we’ll have two kids…
Oh, I’m so silly! God damn!
You will go piece by piece
From my heart, from my London…”
She wrote: “First of all must go
Your smell upon my pillow…”
I’m reading it more and more,
Looking in broken mirror.
I took my heavy gun,
Bottle of English whisky…
She was my sunset. Sun
Killed itself, was too risky.
May be she’s crying now
Near unbreathful body…
I was her private sun.
Be happy without me, honey.