They had been going for such a long time that already did not know where.
And she had ice in her palms, and he had water in his.
And if he had not been laughing, she would have decided that he was mute.
But he said to her: how nice it will be when we return back home.
Sister, you are an altruist, you do not spare the candles.
And you want to know my language, but it is mine, and nobody else's.
And we already need so few words, and the winter is nearly behind.
You know, sister, how nice it will be when we return back home.
I was flying on wings of silver, oh, a great aesthete I was.
And on that side of the glass I was looking for what's not to be found on this.
And my body was pleading for love, and became a prison to me.
And so it went till I realized that I was returning back home.