I’m 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 it’s snowing;
In Kishinev, the sun benignly shines,
It’s great out there - but that’s not where I’m going.

I’m told: don’t overestimate your chances,
The heavens aren’t being very nice.
And now, they say again: the next Odessa flight’s been canceled -
Apparently, the runway’s 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,
It’s great down there - but that’s not where I’m going.

Announcement: flight to Leningrad’s now boarding!
I need to reach Odessa by tonight -
But over there, they’re 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 that’s not where I’m going.

They say the flight is ready - stop the presses! -
And now I’m being ushered to my seat
By beautiful and blue-clad stewardesses, like princesses,
As cool as our entire civil fleet.

They’ve opened every city known to man,
Accessible by Tupolev or Boeing -
All clear are Paris, London, and Milan;
New York’s all clear, but that’s not where I’m going.

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

The pilot’s voice immediately distresses:
The flight’s held up. I knew this couldn’t 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.