Антон Духовской - Южный город
текст песни

A southern city. A dusty city. A post office near the train station.
And a local history museum closed for three years.
And a hotel with a restaurant and banquet hall.
And a tattered book of friends' phone numbers.
The sky here is crossed out, as if by a pencil, by swifts.
I watch their flight, with the window wide open in the heat.
A southern city, a dusty city, I am now your citizen.
I'm getting used to it. I'm getting used to it. I've almost gotten used to it... But...
As soon as the snow on the bird cherries melts, a snow of lilacs falls.
Only in dreams do I hold real wet snow in my palms.
It becomes lines of poetry in the early morning.
But some people only need them in dreams.
No matter! A week, a month, a year will pass—life will get better,
Just as the local wine improves with age. I'll write other songs instead of the ditties for Tanya.
I'm getting used to it. I'm getting used to it. I'm almost used to it... But...
I made it all up myself: a southern city, a dusty city...
Crying seems absurd... Everything is decided for the long haul.
Southern city, dusty city, I'm your voluntary exile.
I'm getting used to it. I'm getting used to it. I'm almost used to it... But...
I don't even know right now: what I need and what I don't.
Poplar blizzards swirled the dusty city...
Scoop up the frost in an envelope and come to my southern city...
That was—as you can imagine—an unfortunate joke.