Текст песни Виктор Берковский - Марк Шагал

He is old,
it is similar to his loneliness,
talk to him about the weather does not want to.
He immediately - with a question:
- Are not you from Vitebsk? ..
Old-fashioned jacket lapel wiped ...
No, I'm not from Vitebsk ...
Long pause.
And then - the words monotonously and overcast:
- Hard and is ill ...
In Venice - Exhibition ...
So you are not from Vitebsk? ...
- No, I'm not from Vitebsk ...
He is looking towards.
Can not hear, hear.
Some unearthly remoteness breathing,
trying to childhood
touch carefully ...
And no or Cannes or the Cote d'Azur,
no current fame ...
Light and confused
it extends to Vitebsk, like a plant ...
The Vitebsk it - dusty and hot -
pinned to the ground fire watchtower.
There's a wedding and death, praying and fairs
there ripen especially large apples
and sleepy cabby area wheels ...
- So you are not from Vitebsk? ..
Trees are
along the road to attention.
It'S Getting Dark ...
... And it is a pity,
I'm not from Vitebsk.