Текст песни Васильева Юлия - Марк Шагал

poems by Robert Rozhdestvensky
music by Ludovico Einaudi (Monday)

He is old and looks like his loneliness.
He doesn't want to talk about the weather.
He immediately asked:
"- Are you not from Vitebsk? .." -
Old-fashioned jacket on the lapels wiped off ...
"—No, I'm not from Vitebsk ..." -
Long pause.
And after - words
monotonous and cloudy:
“- I work and get sick ...
Exhibition in Venice ...
So you are not from Vitebsk? .. "
"- No, not from Vitebsk ..."

He looks aside.
Doesn't hear, doesn't hear.
Breathes with some unearthly distance
trying to touch childhood carefully ...
And there is no Cannes,
nor the French Riviera,
not the current glory ...
Light and confused
it reaches out to Vitebsk like a plant ...
That Vitebsk it -
dusty and hot -
pinned to the ground by a fire watchtower.
There are weddings and deaths, prayers and fairs.
Especially large apples ripen there,
and a sleepy cabman rolls along the square ...

“- Are you not from Vitebsk? ..”.
He falls silent.
And suddenly he says
like the most,
street names:
Smolenskaya,
Castle.
Like the Volga, brags about the Vidba River
and waves
with a childishly transparent hand ...
"- So you are not from Vitebsk ..."
We must say goodbye.
Saying goodbye.
Rather return home ...
Trees stand at attention along the road.
It's getting dark ...

And it's a pity that I'm not from Vitebsk.