by Oleh Lysheha, 1989
There are so many superstars, overgrown with weeds...
Somewhere Tom Jones
Is still singing about that green-green grass...
On such a night under the moon among the trees
And I think I should return
To the Milky Way,
Churn up that warm dust...
On such a night
The grandest operas play for free
To those at sea, to those awake
Smears herself blue singing
We shall not perish of this earth! --
No, no, no don't you cry --
Like a willow weeping over water...