Candles are lit for me each evening;
their light - your smoky ghost in it,
and I don’t want to know that time heals,
and that all shall pass with it.

I can no longer rid myself of calm
and all that’s on my mind a year before;
first to the seaport and than to the plane,
unknowingly, she took it all away with her.

Candles are lit for me each evening;
their light - your smoky ghost in it,
and I don’t want to know that time heals,
and that all shall pass with it.

In my soul - the driest desert.
Why do you stand over my empty soul and stare?
Only broken songs and cob-webs there,
the rest she took away with her.

Candles are lit for me each evening;
their light, your smoky ghost in it,
and I don’t want to know that time heals,
and that all shall pass with it.

In my soul - destinations only without routes,
Dig around there and you’ll only find
two half-phrases, half-dialogues,
and the rest - France, Paris.

And let the evening light candles for me;
their light, your smoky ghost in it,
but I don’t want to know that time heals,
and that all shall pass with it.