Текст песни Farewell to Pripyat - Christy Moore
It
was
a
Friday
in
April
1986,
The
day
that
the
nightmare
began,
When
the
dust
it
rained
down
on
our
buildings
and
streets,
And
entered
our
bedrooms
at
noon,
Touched
the
grass
and
the
streets,
bicycles,
cars,
Beds
books
and
picture
frames
too,
We
stood
around,
helpless,
confused,
Nobody
knew
what
to
do.
At
two
o'clock
on
Sunday
the
buses
arrived,
A
fleet
of
a
thousand
or
more,
We
were
ordered
to
be
on
our
way,
Not
knowing
what
lay
in
store,
Some
of
our
citizens
fled
in
dismay,
And
looked
for
a
good
place
to
hide,
Four
o'clock
came
and
the
last
bus
pulled
out,
T'was
the
day
our
lovely
town
died.
And
the
shirts
sheets
and
handkerchiefs
crack
in
the
wind,
On
the
window
ledge
the
withering
plants,
And
the
Ladas
and
Volga's
are
parked
by
the
door,
And
the
bike's
in
its
usual
stance.
Our
evergreen
trees
lie
withered
and
drooped,
They've
poisoned
our
fertile
land,
The
streets
speak
a
deafening
silence,
Nothing
stirs
but
the
sand.
A
visit
back
home
is
so
eerie
today,
A
modern
Pompeii
on
view,
To
see
all
the
old
shops
and
the
Forest
Hotel,
And
the
Promyet
Cinema
too.
The
mementos
we
gathered
were
all
left
behind,
Our
Photos,
letters
and
cards,
The
toys
of
our
children
untouchable
now,
Toy
soldiers
left
standing
on
guard.
So
fare
thee
well
Pripyat,
my
home
and
my
soul,
Your
sorrow
can
know
no
relief,
A
terrifying
glimpse
of
the
future
you
show,
Your
children
all
scattered
like
geese,
The
clothes
line
still
sways
but
the
owners
long
gone,
As
the
nomadic
era
returns,
The
question
in
black
and
white
blurred
into
grey,
The
answer
is
too
easy
to
learn.
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