A warm evening

A warm evening by a pond in Moscow, in the quiet coolness and silence, cries somewhere - there is no need for words My voice is hoarse after singing a song, tearing the strings of my heart apart to hold every moment, never letting go And I sing a song of pure and timeless flowing water, here in Chistye Prudy, where two hearts met once Echoes of wounded eras roll over gray waters and speak the same old language to us through the years

Suddenly, from a dark corner through deep night shadows two figures step into light - Marina and Tatiana In their dusty armor, they step fearlessly forward The Danish ghost, Hamlet, walks with an unafraid stride Stop singing! Marina cries, cutting through the air with her voice It's time for us to soar above any storm, no matter how high

Chistye Prud holds a thousand words and stories, echoing the eras and the worlds that slowly fade away From the courtyards in Moscow to the bright lights of Paris, we sing through ages, breaking the curtain of the night Some scream, some whisper into the darkness We are all voices on one frequency, united in our own way And we fly as one wild flock, rushing straight to the center of Paris where shop windows sparkle with light and the city never sleeps, never stops its art

They gave their all to the French stage, with their hearts exposed and raw Hamlet stood beside them, bearing every fault in silence To Be or Not to Be? - the question tears apart their souls He taught them to seek the truth and never give up Then onward - straight to Saint Petersburg for their wild debut

The audience was generous there, sensing every word and every truth The wind howled above the Neva, stern and unforgivingly true Vissotsky and Talkov sang there without lies or regrets The pavement echoed under their feet, and candles burned steadily This journey through three cities became their fate and their only path