Lyrics Сестри - Хлопчику, хлопчику..

Boy, boy, removed from the stretcher
The web of my youth's hopes - for the sin ...
Your face is a pitcher of ceramics -
All I have to write a poem from.
Not kissing in dark squares,
Not from wet counters birch juice -
Now I'm all in a fashionable mess,
Which name is the “Balzac Age”.
Even though your eyes are all over me -
Boy, boy, this is no longer that ...
I got involved in my own "image":
I already have roses in the hotel!
... But with the sticky lights of the restaurant,
From the highlands of radiant prosceniums
I bear as a gaping tender wound,
Your raw half-baby face,
Where the cheeks are cool and the lips are stubborn:
Without a single word, but damp! -
and yet
Of these there is a willingness to sacrifice,
What an internal reflection of future fires!
There are tearful candles in the pupils ...
You are the only one left:
I recognized you in the face
Memory of genes and dreams.
I'm shaking, like a car crash
Suddenly she saw on the run:
Suchmedallion glued profile
In youth he could wear a Bohun!
You swallow hot,
You're all still with the blinks and shimmer ...
Boy, boy, do I see you -
But I can't warn ...

Oksana Zabuzhko