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Old routes, stripped to the bone.
Always in a circle, always only to Ljubljana.
People who used to rush, die in their
beds for a few hours.
They postpone to tomorrow what they
wanted today. They are happy because they can forget.
But over Ljubljana
sparkle, time and frost.
Å ank changes the road. I pour my bride into a glass. Only. Her. The only
always faithful. Through smoke and voices
I see collapsed bridges, for a hug
I would immediately exchange this place. People in the distance are happy, with wine happiness smiles on them. But inside me
the walls are mute. I can only hear a drunkard who
sings softly: lalala...
And above Ljubljana
is a spark, time and cold.
My mind shows me memories, faces
known list. It's over. The past
is a cursed punishment. Life is passing
and I feel that the day when I will be
old is getting closer. when I'm old and empty. People in the distance are happy, with wine happiness smiles on them. But inside me
the walls are mute. With a drunkard I quietly
sing: lalala...