Вино из одуванчиков

I wanna fly away, away to the trembling horizon;
Ancient wings, my oldest friends- where are you now?
Aren't you the clouds, the autumn mist?
It's been such a long time... such a long time...

Raindrops are burning holes in my skin
As I'm walking along the stormy sea;
And still, I can hear its dreadful silence
In the rumbles of thunder...

The tin sky doesn't seem such a suffocating thing
When you learn to feel its own freedom,
As you begin to breathe through the blowing wind...

No more trembling; suddenly I feel
As if I were in a Lumières' movie...

Black and white, mute and not at all fine...