Пора возвращаться домой [Pora vozvrashat'sya domoi] [English translation]

[Verse 1: Bi-2]

Stale rye bread

Is breaking a blunt knife

Eyes are staring

To a blurred horizon

Directly from a ceiling

It's silently raining

A ticker

Is rested to a binding.

[Chorus: Bi-2]

A foreign love

Flames cities.

A winding way

Dragged on like a loop

When all the roads

Lead nowhere

It is time

To get back home

[Verse 2: Bi-2]

Noisy croud

Filled a platform

And a boy behind a window

Still waving me

Every fate

Is tied up with me

And in living memory

A house, demolished so long ago

[Chorus: Bi-2]

A foreign love

Flames cities.

A winding way

Dragged on like a loop

When all the roads

Lead nowhere

It is time

To get back home

[Verse 3: Oxxxymiron]

A man, flying to his death, unlikely can be saved with

Cypresses, palms, azure, sunburn is not a armor

They call a monsoon differently, landscapes like in my dreams

But how to hide a yearing about place we're away?

It's not comfortable here, but still not Lefortovo*

But you stoutly waiting for teleport to home to be impressed

Same old formula, to native home, a place with no Ordnung**

You saw everything here: Dortmund mines, Cornwall rocks,

Morlocs' herds from slums from early Orwell books***

A wanderer have entire world on his palm, until all connections to Point A is torn

But still a lump in the troat, part-time work as a porter,

Glass of vodka with Cinzano...

What the f**k to do, if heart defeat the brains?

And that's all - tired of being a stepson between natives

Paradise behind, but, alas, if we are all kamikazes,

Future is world of gas cameras,

Vlasov's armies****, mass executions, but

Still want back home, avast, it's shaking, we're entering our native anti-space

What? Say "stop'?

Stay and hiding your writings?*****

Cowardly fear to die here, like a emigrant's vocabulary

Without supply of living real speaking

You thought you can live without it, but you can't

cut the distance, you thought - it will pass, distance is cure, but

you still speak your native language, not foreign, quo vadis?

You, Icarus, put your palms closer to forehead

Cockroach runs behind, Paris and Stambul

300 grams of cognac, plane is getting higher - and suddenly, whirling

Become a point over a cape, go on, my friend, and down there...

[Chorus: Bi-2]

A foreign love

Flames cities.

A winding way

Dragged on like a loop

When all the roads

Lead nowhere

It is time

To get back home

A foreign love

Flames cities.

A winding way

Dragged on like a loop

When all the roads

Lead nowhere

It is time

To get back home

• Artist:Bi-2
• Album:Горизонт событий