I feel how the world is fading away,
like an old photograph divided into layers,
the sun separates from the sea,
and they are no longer together,
black-and-white sun separately
from the blue sea,
a young woman on the shore,
smiling,
shining,
and there are already two suns on the old postcard.
How many billions of pieces of paper
the wind drives to common dumps,
the wind rustles with words
spoken somewhere, sung,
or forgotten on the shore under the canopy
of an old tower.
There is no one
as there never was,
only fog to the horizon
and a soft haze above the forest.
So the song ends with an echo
when the hall falls silent,
as if to God,
tired of searching for words,
picking out the voice with notes from the throat
or the melody of the wind
over the gray sea.
перевод - нейросеть