On the street goes
A beautiful girl.
In the mouth a cigarette holds,
In her hands - a bottle of ***.

With the eyes, as the nights
Dark and hollow.
With a soul, as her eyes
Deep, full of sorrow.

There is a grey sky overhead,
Lightning, thunder.
She'd better of dead.
No god above and under.

Suddenly the rain stops,
The sun is shinning.
The heart once again hopes.
Doesn't want whining.

Once again she wants to live
To create, to fly.
She has something to give.
Doesn't want to die.