Lyrics Весна в Сан-Бликко - Художница

I walk along unfamiliar streets
To my attic under the very stars,
My silhouette slouches more and more
And becomes more and more serious.
Somewhere in the distance an artist,
A hostage of paints and brushes,
Will wake up from the smell of roses,
Who gave them to her?

Here people are like numbers from zero to five
Who sees a little more eager to leave
Yesterday a poet died in my heart,
Now I am alone, or rather there is no one else,
I drip on the floor, I spread,
I look at the ceiling, and then evaporate
And the air of an innocent new day
A hundredth part consists of me,
Inhale,
Inhale,
Understand me

I am used to smiling at my own pain,
My wounds are full of salt,
I know that I am not worthy,
I know that I am not worthy,
But take a clean sheet of paper, fold it in half,
A white envelope, like a stone temple,
Send it to me, I will understand,
I will read everything that is said there.
But today Venus is at its zenith again,
Where is your conscience and faith now,
Does it ever happen that one person
In this machine-building age
Always looks like rain, then snow,
Now like rain, then snow