Михаил Круг — Купола

A state house stands before me, And a central prison too. Not a kopeck to my name, And a long road lies ahead.

Fog has fallen over the cliff, The horses picked up their pace, I'd down a glass right now If someone poured one for me.

At night the church is empty, Wolves are howling in the fields, And for the firing-squad sentence They're quickly digging graves.

What was I missing after all? Now everything's in place: There was a jack of diamonds on my back, And at my feet — the ace of clubs.

Golden domes Bring joy to my soul, Or is it not rain, is it not rain — Tears falling from the sky. Golden domes Are tattooed on my chest, But they're only blue And not a speck of gold. Not a speck of gold.

On the edge above the cliff My heart will tremble with dread, Who will change my thieving life? Who will hand me a glass, Who will blow out the candle, Who will forgive and understand And who will weep for me?

Golden domes Bring joy to my soul, Or is it not rain, is it not rain — Tears falling from the sky. Golden domes Are tattooed on my chest, But they're only blue And not a speck of gold. Not a speck of gold.