Narrow crossroad in old Moscow

White gloves, dullness in the eyes

Red tramcars, blue coats

Nobody loves you and nobody waits

At home, policeman



You haaven't been to the forest, haven't seen the sea

Why are you so calm

Standing on point duty

As if there were no forest, as if there were no sea?

So take off the peaked cap, destroy the baton

Run with me, policeman



But who will control the traffic

Who will prevent an accident

Who will stop children crossing the road

Who will hang up a sign in the right place?



Narrow crossroad

Commanding hand

White glove

Moscow behind him

Yellow newspaper

Low ceiling

He was calm and unruffled

He lived this way

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