They killed me a long time ago,
They killed me today.
They killed me with a spear,
They killed me with a gun.

For a few hundred years I stayed,
On a bed, in a tower, for a river.
While music sank in the consciousness,
The wine bled and the violins were scratched.

An army of hundred sins in the sky,
The smoke from a chimney,
The winter and her eyes.
They took them and left me with a dream.

Many died that morning,
Some even left the room.
The piano cried to the loose blouse,
They found coal in the gold mine.

What a thought,
I fell; I fell into life.
And all that was left were letters,
The window open, and a sigh.

There was no reason,
But they still found one.
They built a castle,
Then the serpent took that away.

The poet, the cat and the naked witch,
The Master and Margarita,
Spent a quite evening with the moon.
The grass, the wisdom and the passion.