The rain cut into his skin with needles,
You got wet under the sky of London.
And the soul has become entirely wet,
And the soul became completely naked.
Under cover of night, harried –
Looking for yourself – not found.
The thought of a tete-a-Board hung:
The expensive price of freedom...
When I fall on my knees,
And the pain has hail at his temple
You need to know that someone believes in you,
It is necessary to have someone's warm hands.