Не получив нужного внимания, я, гордая как всегда, направляюсь в постель с убранными в пучок волосами. Чао.

Moscow.

The city of pain, the city of pleasure

You gave birth to me and here i’ll die,

Because you’re killing me by kissng me good bye.

I would say sorry, but i won’t

Your tender faces mixed with dirt

And sufferings of people.

Your animalistic fever,

Which kills the pleasure of the day,

The sunlight, freshly growing hey

But do I love you?

NO, I don’t, you never filled me with support

You never calmed me when I though

That the soles of my shoes

Will never touch the boat

That we’re all in.