What a time, in 89:
we drank our fill of Russian wine.
Your laughter rang through alleyways
and set my heart ablaze.
I worshipped you in worn-out jeans,
in frigid flats with old latrines.
The city lights, they seemed to gleam
more brightly in those days.
Now twenty years have come and gone,
but still your laughter lingers on,
and weary eyes of dogs and men,
they fill my thoughts again.
Not much has changed, for all they say:
the rich still rule; the poor still pray:
I see them kneeling everywhere these days,
and where are you my friend?
What a time, in 89:
the world was ours, and you were mine.
We sang until the wall came falling down:
what an awful sound.