Nick Patavalis ([info]npat) wrote,
@ 2006-02-17 03:27:00
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Entry tags:culture, personal

nuit de noel

Once more I sent to you a letter
Tenderly kissing its pages
And opening the bottle of your evil perfume
I'm inhaling its intoxication
And then oh so clearly I see
These thin black birds that are flying
From the bottle they fly to the South
From the bottle of Nuit de Noel

And soon once again comes the spring
When the youthful violins of Venice
Will dance out your grief and your sorrow
Will dance out your gloom and despair
And then your sins seem not as bad
And your blue mistakes will become lighter
Please don't be afraid to share all your spring kisses
When almond trees begin to bloom

Please don't cry for me my dear friend
I'm a bird that is frozen and sulking
My Sharmanshik master he shows me no mercy
He makes me dance non-stop all day
And picking up the lucky tickets
I stare at the unhappy faces
And accompanied by cries of the Sharmanka
I'm falling asleep on my feet

Once more I send to you a letter
And tenderly kissing its pages
Don't be angry at me for an unhappy end
So seductive are my bitter tears
And due to your evil perfume
All this is because of those black thoughts
Flying like birds from the bottle to the South
From the bottle called Nuit de Noel

Sappy, sentimental, and more than a little juvenille. I know, but some moments I'm a sucker for this kind of... bitter gayness. Don't worry, it usually passes quickly.

Lyrics from Marc Almond's "Nuit de Noel". Originally by Alexander Vertinsky. Translated from the Russian original by Olga Lutskaya.


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