N. Scoffer. Scoffer (№ 385343)

In the old creaky house I lived in Berwickshire Tommy,
Where the hills are green the fragrant Heather bloomed.
Narkisim stupid fairy tales from childhood did not believe Tommy,
Believed in sitcoms Tommy, in the "Rangers" and the rock-n-roll.
Tommy didn't believe in fairy tales, Tommy went to Glasgow,
The scent of grass on campus, to crazy spring
To swear love until death gentle green eyes
And in a year with a stroller in the Park walking with his wife.
Again settled Tommy in the old paternal house,
The fall was busy, behind her winter,
And quiet may night was heard by Tommy
And ran away in the languor of home away into the hills.
Fun whinnying horses, Heather rang on the slope,
The elves laughed: "Tommy! Tommy, let's dance reel!"
Nanking stupid tales Tommy, alas, is not remembered
He did not understand, he in the dance entered.
In the halls under the hills, bright burning flame,
The rhythm of the beat feet, heart beat, blood.
Son and wife seemed to Tommy a funny dream
Only to the dawn of memory to Tommy's back again.
Elves, laughing as children, brought at dawn
From Golden palaces, from the magical sleep.
Tommy in the face hit the dusty hot wind,
Racing on the planet where the last war.
Cry in the ruins, Tommy, cry about the dead house
Those who you cared about, your not gonna hear a scream.
All that you have left - nannicini tales to remember
Cry in the ruins, Tommy, stupid funny man.