On the second of January I finished my Olivier,
I thought about my future life,
From the screen again Baskov sang,
And Stas Mikhailov was not superfluous!
You served coffee with milk,
I held you tenderly,
We made love later,
The fire in my breast was burning!
We didn't answer the phone,
Everything floated as if in a fog,
We didn't get tired all day,
We didn't call your mother!
We finished our wine Shene,
And they thought of Paris,
Where did we like Manet's painting,
And Degas was getting closer to us!
As we walked along the avenues,
And with the Eiffel tower looking at Paris,
Listening to different dialects!
Admiring the red roof tiles!
But all the same native Saratov is nicer to us,
And there is a chestnut tree in our Park,
And our snow on the trees is whiter,
Our dope smells better!