Festivals, competitions, concerts –
Dust is a pillar and my head is spinning.
I'm tired of this mess,
All flesh, the spirit of nature.
I'll run away into the wide open,
A silk feather bed will calm you down.
And the toast and arguments will subside,
And the ghostly dust will settle…
I will walk the hills of Cimmeria,
Where Kara-Dag meets the sun,
Where euphoria swirls in the sky
Over a rock that looks like the Reichstag.
I'll sit down in a hollow somewhere,
And fall asleep to the whisper of the spring.
I will dream of a bright picture
Crimean native corner.