Tonight, light shines in the old tower
As if a truth before Christmas
And like essense spilling magic
Its laws don't fit in the head
And further more: shadows stand up, standing in rows
Are caryatids, sculptures of singers and horses
And again the light shines stronger in the old tower
Light fills all the streets and squares
I invite you to the dance, to the fantastic waltz
And weather your a king or a peasant, it doesn't matter!
In fact, its not music, but the bleeding
Of cellos, saxophones, and flutes.
You called me to the dance, I donned a vale
Here the feeling of rhythm is nothing to us, more important is the feeling of measures**
And with the pitch of each measure
Wanderers spy a strawberry field.
The ninth dance until the middle, I'm falling on my feet
At the old tower roosters awoke, well, its the end
Suddenly someone, standing behind (in the arms of the wreath)
They grab me and drag me down the isle
They said to me: "all of this dancing is an evil sport"
They warned: "watch out for the hands on the clocks"
But look at what an escort I have
And snakes struggled in my braided hair.
I invite you to the dance, to the fantastic waltz
And weather your a king or a peasant, it doesn't matter!
In fact, its not music, but the bleeding
Of cellos, saxophones, and flutes.
You called me to the dance, I donned a vale
Here the feeling of rhythm is nothing to us, more important is the feeling of measures
From far off for every next measure
They see a dark path in lunettes.
Next morning someone wakes me up, pours tea
I drink it all in a gulp, as if it's some sort of spirit
And someone asks, where I disappeared to in the night
While the whole town shivered or slept*
And I confess, that in the night light shined in the tower
I also confess, that in this dance I was on fire with it,
That in the entire world this different light didn't shine
And only summer danced with January all the time
I invite you to the dance, to the fantastic waltz
And weather your a king or a peasant, it doesn't matter!
In fact, its not music, but the bleeding
Of cellos, saxophones, and flutes.
You called me to the dance, I donned a vale
Here the feeling of rhythm is nothing to us, more important is the feeling of measures
And I watch every next measure
And with every measure I smile harder.
Gackolpz
Грустный Леонид Аркадьевич
понеделник, 17/07/2023 - 13:41
April0123 
* I don't know what нажитом means in this sentence
** такт could mean multiple things but I feel like the word 'measure' fits in better, as in a musical measure, I think this could also be about the parts of the dances individually.
Love this song, translating to gain experience in Russian, I may have translated the last stanza weird as the last stanza is all in perfective and that is kind of weird in English, most verbs are in future perfect, and can be interpreted as future verbs (I think).