1988, 1994
, 1993, 1996
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2:5030/386.69@fidonet.org, : pechkin@netvision.net.il
Setting sun red and heavy is casting long shades
On the walls of the castle where no guard is seen;
Just two arhers are playing the game of old days
Throwing coins on the stone floor and list'ning them ring.
Thus the day is but done.
'Midst the walls all a-crumbling the two of them then
Lay asleep with their uniform cloaks over heads.
Not the first day they finish, not first night they spend
Over bottle of brew which is bann'd to the lads,
As the Holy Day is.
But the night will be short, and as morning begins
They resume their guard as it goes from the time;
And they'll drink up to shrink from the bottle they'll bring,
Their unwilling to live drowning down in the wine;
They don't heed to their light.
Now the ages have past, and in silence I walk
'Midst the tow'rs all a-broken and burned to the root,
In the trees grown between ancient bastions and walls,
And the bits of the bottle hiss under my foot,
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Sing to me, my true Raymonda
You are left to me the only
We shall leave the sullen city
Heading westward, heading downward
By the concrete, by the pavement
We shall steal into the autumn
Not the sound your string will utter,
Nor my heel will make no sound
If the rooks would cry behind us,
What's in it for us, Raymonda?
Not for us in still this hour
Bells are tolling on the tower
We are wanderers and pilgrims
By ourselves we are forsaken
Where our souls are waiting for us
Only you can tell me ever
All the ancient masterpieces
Of the urban architecture
Won't delay us for a minute --
We're departing in a moment
When the sun rise in the morning
Who will know where you and me are
I will touch you and your strings shall
Weep and cry under my fingers
Weep and cry, my true Raymonda
Cry and weep while we are lonely
If there someone is to find us,
He will hear another music.
Through the woods and through the deserts
We shall carry out our sorrow
Picking up our luck and hap'ness,
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I'm not more than a stranger
Neither this place or that
Whole my life on the flowers endlessly I tread
I am carrying stones
In unladened hands
I am writing my name on untrustworthy sand
On the edge of the stream
Maybe it's just a karma
Maybe it's all a lie
But when rain starts a-falling
Who can see the blue sky
I don't know what is urgent
I see no harm or hint
When the bare little feet do not leave any print
On untrustworthy sand
What if brother of mine
Recognizes me not
If no fire where he's at now
And no ice has he got
Where the wind blows and heaven
Holds the stars in its hand
He will not leave a footprint on untrustworthy sand
On the edge of the stream
I'm not more than a stranger
Neither this place or that
Whole my life on the flowers endlessly I tread
I am carrying stones
In unladened hands
I am writing my name on untrustworthy sand
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