The buzz fades away

The buzz fades away I step on the stage - Where are your rebellious sixteen years? The Taganka evening breathes a quiet sternness, cigarette smoke and half light blur the years Where the ticket booths vanish in the dim glow, he saw her through the fog, like a ghostly show A meeting of two worlds, two kinds of pain - a Parisian woman and a raspy hooligan To remember or to let go? - the question hangs, life is a wound that never truly heals For you, broken strings still sing their song, Statsky at Taganka - wild, untamed, young Letters rush to Paris through winds and distances, quarrels spiral into madness, cries and repentances To forget? To remember? Let the columns crumble, just to hear your voice across the season's tumbles Poor Statsky dozes in the dressing room's dim light, his heart a fire, a bitter, quiet fight The word echoes in the cramped hushed space, turning to verdict, a sent, heavy trace Through resentment and salty tears, the night will wrap us in its wave of years - of soul and reconciliation, soft and deep, while all the shields are broken, all bridges keep not burning out, but holding fast to this moment, as if the world itself were meant to be content He wrote poems to his Marina line by line, singing until his voice was ragged, raw, and fine He carved his soul for living, burning reason, slicing darkness into shreds, revealing the season The curtain falls forever with a low, sad groan, but the chord of love will echo on its own A king upon the stage, a lonely man in life, he whispered, Don't let me die, God I'm still alive