Iím set to fly from Moscow to Odessa;
As usual, the plane is running late.
And all I see are blue-clad stewardesses, like princesses,
Who tell me to sit down, shut up, and wait.
In Ashkhabad, the weather is just fine,
In contrast with Odessa, where itís snowing;
In Kishinev, the sun benignly shines,
Itís great out there - but thatís not where Iím going.
Iím told: donít overestimate your chances,
The heavens arenít being very nice.
And now, they say again: the next Odessa flightís been canceled -
Apparently, the runwayís turned to ice.
In Murmansk, there is neither rain nor storm,
In Kiev and in Lvov, green grass is growing.
Tbilisi is enjoyable and warm,
Itís great down there - but thatís not where Iím going.
Announcement: flight to Leningradís now boarding!
I need to reach Odessa by tonight -
But over there, theyíre issuing inclement-weather warnings,
And are accepting no incoming flights!
I need to go where snow-drifts are waist-high,
Where thunder rolls and chilly winds are blowing;
While somewhere else there might be sunny skies,
And life is good - but thatís not where Iím going.
They say the flight is ready - stop the presses! -
And now Iím being ushered to my seat
By beautiful and blue-clad stewardesses, like princesses,
As cool as our entire civil fleet.
Theyíve opened every city known to man,
Accessible by Tupolev or Boeing -
All clear are Paris, London, and Milan;
New Yorkís all clear, but thatís not where Iím going.
The pilotís voice immediately distresses:
The flightís held up. I knew this couldnít last!
The blue-clad stewardesses, like so many Miss Odessas,
Now lead us calmly back into the past.
One more announcement comes: delayed till eight!
And passengers obediently say, "wake me"...
But, damn, I can no longer bear to wait;
I fly off to whatever place will take me.