U prozoru kisa, moje lice uz stakloHladno je.Jos samo vetar vuce mrtve papireU krugove.A senke proslosti dolaze,I nemam hrabrosti da pobegnem ,Opet je vreme za slicice drageSa police.
Telefon mi ne moze vratitiSunce tvoga osmeha,Ni retka pisma sto stizu odSlucaja do slucaja,A svega setim se bar na tren,Iako proslo je volim te ,I nema nade da iz sobe sadisteram duhove .
K’o tvoj KERBERPred vrata ti dodjemK’o tvoj KERBER nikom te ne damK’o tvoj KERBERJa uzalud cekamNa kost.
In the window,it's raining, my face by the glassIt's coldOnly the wind drags around dead papersInto circles
And shadows of past are comingAnd i dont have courage to escapeAgain,it's time for dear picturesFrom the shelf
The phone can't bring me back
The sunshine of your smile
Nor rare letters that arrive fromcase to case,I remember everything atleast for a momentIEven if it's gone, I love youAnd there's no hope that from this room now i couldexorcise these ghosts
Like your own KERBER*In front of your doors i arriveLike your own KERBER*, I don't let anyone have youLike your own KERBER*In vain, I waitFor a bone