The Old Tram

When the summers coming, the growling pore
Even the gray stones shadow is melting,
When the clinking shouts of bad children
Speaking, walking and listening to laziness.

When the incandescent sun is hanging over the bridge,
And head hurts from cars exhausts,
I remember the cold blue lakes,
Where the old tram sometimes drove.

Drive me there, where theres nature,
Drive me to the place where there is no asphalt,
Drive me there, where theres green grass,
Drive, drive the old tram.

And vacation in October, and theres the winter
I try not to look at sunburnt girls
No frosts, no drinks, 'cause theres no water.
How do those people live in Republic of Chad?

But I want to go to the Antarctic, though only for a moment,
The legs are hardly dragging, eyes are flooded with sweat.
Again I remember the cold blue lakes,
Where the old tram sometimes drove.

Drive me there, where theres nature,
Drive me to the place where there is no asphalt,
Drive me there, where theres green grass,
Drive, drive the old tram.

Drive me there, where theres nature,
Drive me to the place where there is no asphalt,
Drive me there, where theres green grass,
Drive, drive the old tram.