LOBODA — Взрослые девочки не плачут

The city and the music, Tunnels in it like pockets, And traffic lights, and clubs — Feelings in them feel like an illusion. Equalizers in the rhythm, Hearts melt like icebergs, As if the best celebrations are ahead.

Girl, fly through the fog of pain, Hide your longing in those story clips. You’re already grown now, my girl, and that means — Grown girls don’t cry.

Girl, fly through the fog of pain, Hide your longing in those story clips. You’re already grown now, my girl, and that means — Grown girls don’t cry.

Cold, glass, the sound of tires, City, highways, car lights. How do you reach a dream From the bottom all the way to the top? How far have you managed to go, How many wins and mistakes, And by the shopfront signs — The same girl is still inside.

The city and the music, Tunnels in it like pockets, And traffic lights, and clubs — Feelings in them feel like an illusion. Equalizers in the rhythm, Hearts melt like icebergs, As if the best celebrations are ahead.

Girl, fly through the fog of pain, Hide your longing in those story clips. You’re already grown now, my girl, and that means — Grown girls don’t cry.

Girl, fly through the fog of pain, Hide your longing in those story clips. You’re already grown now, my girl, and that means — Grown girls don’t cry.

How many times I repeated: don’t believe, don’t ask. In a little girl’s heart there was a huge world. Only the Barbies grew up, and Ken isn’t a boy anymore — Which means grown girls don’t cry.

Grown girls don’t cry, Grown girls don’t cry, Grown girls don’t cry.