None of us are home
Unless we walk the road
Where we find ourselves
In love
Never settle into buildings
Made of just wood and stone
Travel well on bricks
Of gold
In carriages with throne
Flowing with gypsy
Blood
Russians know best
When writing stories from love
Singing of passion
Over the breath of accordions
None of us our home
Except when dancing
Around hearth and flames
Pulsing with gypsy
Blood
As Russians sing best
With fiddles and violins
Poems of life
And love