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  • Vladimir Vysotsky

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Indian summer

The maple trees have painted the town
In their lights it seems like bewitched.
That means, it is soon
Indian summer, Indian summer.
 
That the leaves disappear so quickly -
I cannot comprehend ...
And these leaves I'll catch as,
Our coming together, our coming together.
 
And I'll recklessly twist round my little finger
The most careless of women.
And long I've looked for such a one -
And neither more nor less.
 
Yes only mamma is scolding here,
That I'm not at home in the nights
And that I am drunk too often
In the Indian summer, in the Indian summer.
 
And I forgot when I've been home,
Muddle up nights and dawns ...
There is a turbulence, there is a turbulence -
Indian summer, Indian summer.
 
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