WEBVTT

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Paul Mauriat, still your violins!
Why all the straining?

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His tired-out wheezing --
Does not sound French.

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While his lyrics burn like coal --
The record scratches.

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Let him be quiet, rest himself --
Lest he be broken.

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The morning rider will gallop by,
Not nursing his close pain,

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Someone's woman will cry out,
Probably not yours.

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A grieving face, a distant voice --
Reach up to the skies.

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Goodbye, goodbye,
Goodbye, my dear.

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And someone is playing Hamlet,
Biding his time.

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And the new Hamlet dies --
Farewell, Hamlet!

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But then the audience died down,
As if it senses.

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Let him be quiet, not exhale --
It passes by him.

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Moscow pours itself out
Along Taganka's narrow veins

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A widow with a French face --
Will live for many years.

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There a foreign newsman
Wildly shook his head.

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Someone strange, someone drunk
Someone himself - half-living.

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Sleep peacefully, my son, --
No one is crying.

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Oh, this world for lonely folk -
It means a lot!

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Deep little lane -
There is nobody close.

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Alone, alone,
Alone - until the end.