The Old Tram

When the summer’s coming, the growling pore
Even the gray stone’s 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 car’s exhausts,
I remember the cold blue lakes,
Where the old tram sometimes drove.

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

And vacation in October, and there’s the winter
I try not to look at sunburnt girls
No frosts, no drinks, 'cause there’s 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 there’s nature,
Drive me to the place where there is no asphalt,
Drive me there, where there’s green grass,
Drive, drive the old tram.

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


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