Ivanov is on the station
Waiting for the train's arrival
Looking forward for a beer
Monday's surely the toughest day of all.
Mere people are around him
Rushing to the train like crazy
Stomping on his feet and wings
Pushing him against the wall
But with them he'll never mingle
With co-citizens of his
He holds Sartre in his pocket
And co-citizens got nickels at their best
Ivanov is reading poems
And controllers come to wagon
And they fine our friend for nothing
Monday morning is, as always, a mishap
He lives on Petrogradskaya
In the communal hallway
Between kitchen and the restroom
And the restroom's full of people all the time
And the people come to his place
Bringing trunkloads of Porto
And they spend their lives together
In comparitive analysis of wine
Then they leave without traces
Only the best of his friends
And a few enchanted ladies
Stay with him until the break of dawn
And the morning comes as always
Grey of cigarettes and smoke
Proving long-forgotten thesis
That today is the same day that was before
