The last tram

A song about the Moscow tram

Bulat Okudzhava
The beauty of the twenties
forgot about old age and wounds,
he is now, imagine, ready
to serve us tirelessly.

He once thundered and shone,
we went to admire him.
And then he got tired and fell behind,
and he was forgotten.

They don't let you run along the avenues,
they are allowed to live in the alleys,
they don't sing loud songs about him,
they see off with a laugh.

But through the streets across the bridges
it runs, rattles and invigorates.
And from the hot palm of Moscow
all will not dare to get off.