There was a song once...
It hung in the air, like dust in a dying neon light...
Now, it"s just footsteps in an empty street.
The moon is tired, the street"s too long,
Your name fades out like a broken song.
Someone still hums it, someone still dreams,
But the echoes are quieter than they seem.
Shine on... in the low light shadows...
Shine on... where the city forgets...
There"s a bar down on 3rd,
Where the jukebox still stutters your tune.
No one listens, no one waits,
But the night leans in like an old, tired moon.
I told them once...
Some songs don"t die.
They just drift.
They just... wait.
Still... waiting... still...
[Intro]
The city records you into itself, like ink absorbed by paper,
like dust stuck in the windows of old subway cars.
[Verse 1]
You walk the street, but the street walks through you,
Someone dropped a word, but you didn't pick it up,
Someone left a note on the wall, but it wasn't the one who was supposed to read it.
No memory belongs only to the one who keeps it.
[Chorus]
O, memento, memento,
The city sleeps and doesn't wait for you.
O, memento, memento,
It's all written, but no one reads it.
[Verse 2]
The lights in the windows flicker, like unfinished letters,
Faded advertisements speak louder than living voices.
[Bridge]
You walk down an empty road,
But it's no longer on the map.
You read forgotten letters,
But the ink has long since disappeared.
[Chorus]
O, memento, memento,
The city sleeps and doesn't wait for you.
O, memento, memento,
Everything is written, but no one's reading it.
[Outro]
Next stop, but you've already passed.
We're standing on the edge, but we can't see where to go,
You say it's over, but I don't understand.
The shadows fade into the night, but it's so close,
I hold your hand, and I'm afraid I'll let go.
You laugh - and there's something in that laugh that's scary,
As if the whole world could collapse in an instant.
I don't know what's next, and it's scary.
You look at me like it's all already decided.
How much longer can we stand on this edge?
How much longer can we wait until it all collapses?
We're holding tickets, but we don't know where to go,
You say it'll be better, but it doesn't matter anymore.
And I keep thinking:
The fear of realizing what's next -
Or just staying in this moment,
Where everything is possible, but nothing happens.
We're standing on the edge, but we can't see where to go,
You say it's over, but I don't understand.
The shadows fade into the night, but it's so close,
I hold your hand, and I'm afraid I'll let go.
You laugh - and there's something in that laugh that's scary,
As if the whole world could collapse in an instant.
I don't know what's next, and it's scary.
You look at me like it's all already decided.
How much longer can we stand on this edge?
How much longer can we wait until it all collapses?
We're holding tickets, but we don't know where to go,
You say it'll be better, but it doesn't matter anymore.
And I keep thinking:
The fear of realizing what's next -
Or just staying in this moment,
Where everything is possible, but nothing happens.
[Intro - exposed acoustic guitar, spacious phrasing, silence between chords]
[Verse 1 - close mature male vocal, clean forward mids]
Я видел, как история вошла
В пальто чужом и с мокрым рукавом.
Она сказала: "Я - твоя вина,
Но я пришла не мстить, а просто в дом".
Я налил ей вина, она пила
Молчание, как пьют после войны.
И в зеркале качалась не страна -
Качались мы, ещё друг другу нужны.
[Refrain - restrained, almost spoken]
Сюрреализм истории - не в пыли архивов,
А в том, что ты ушла,
А я ещё жив.
[Verse 2 - upright bass enters subtly]
Я видел, как пророки продают
Свои молитвы за ночлег и хлеб.
И женщина, что пахла, как уют,
Мне руки мыла, но не смыла грех.
Она сказала: "Всё, что было, - не моё.
И то, что будет, - тоже не твоё".
И мы делили с ней одно жильё:
Постель, и страх, и имя на двоих.
[Bridge - free pulse, spoken, soft cello counterline]
А если Бог - лишь свидетель наших тел,
И вечность - это комната без стен,
Тогда история - не приговор,
А сон, в котором мы не спим совсем.
И я не знаю, кто из нас соврал,
Когда сказал: "Любовь сильней, чем смерть".
Я помню только, как ты сняла шаль,
И как за окнами горела твердь.
[Final Refrain - reharmonized, stronger vibrato, no vocal doubling]
Сюрреализм истории - не в том, что мы ушли,
А в том, что свет ещё горит
В пустой квартире на краю земли.
И голос твой, как старый пароль,
Звучит в ночной тиши.
Но это только сон.
И только боль.
И только ты.
И ни души.
[Outro - instruments drop away; voice and acoustic guitar only, intimate decay]
Сюрреализм истории...
Сюрреализм...
[Verse 1]
There was a melody, once.
It slipped between our hands.
Like smoke. Like dust.
Like names we forgot to say.
[Chorus]
Shine... on... fade... away...
[Verse 2]
A note can last forever.
Or disappear before it"s heard.
Who decides which ones remain?
Who decides which ones are lost?*
[Bridge]
Somewhere, someone still hums it.
Somewhere, the strings still vibrate.
But not here. Not now.
[Outro]
Still... waiting... still...
A cigarette burns down to the filter,
a glass waits for a name to be spoken.
She walks in like a story no one finished,
all in french coat and tired poetry.
The saxophone sighs in the corner,
a voice like a match scratching the dark.
The bartender doesn"t ask,
just pours,
like this is a church and whiskey is holy.
Someone hums a tune that died in the "50s,
and for a moment,
the past slips back into its seat.
The door swings open,
lets the night lean in,
but she"s already gone,
leaving only the echo
of her voice.