The candles being lighted every evening
Your images the smokes fumigate;
And I don’t want to learn - time can be healing,
That everything is being gone with it.

I’ll not get rid of quietness in life process,
Since what I stored in soul for a year ahead,
She’s taken to the port, still not on purpose,
Proceeding to the airplane after that.

The candles being lighted every evening
Your images the smokes fumigate;
And I don’t want to learn - time can be healing,
That everything is being gone with it.

The soul of mine is a deserted desert. -
Don’t harass! - no need to pester it:
In it song snatches only can be gathered, -
The rest of it is taken “ a Paris”.

The candles being lighted by the evening
Your images the smokes fumigate,
And I don’t want to learn - time can be healing,
That all the meaning’s to be gone with it.

There’re no roads to my soul’s destinations -
Let you ransack my soul - you’d find at once
Just dialogues with poor variations,
And all the rest in it is Paris, France...

Let be the candles lighted up by evenings,
And let the smokes your image fumigate,
But I don’t want to know that time heals feelings,
That all elapses right with it.