The ships will anchor awhile and will line for the destination,
But they come back through the stormy weather.
Even six months wonít pass - and Iíll appear,
To leave again, to leave again For six months.
Everyone comes back but the best friends,
Except the most beloved and loyal women.
Everyone comes back, - except them who are more needed.
I donít believe in destiny And in myself - even less.
But I want to think, that it isnít true, -
That burning the ships will soon come out of the fashion.
Sure, Iíll be back, all surrounded by my friends and dreams.
Sure, I will sing, sure, - Even six month wonít pass.