When the frost sticks to the windows
I see your number again
I wish there was a storm
Or I blow in the porthole
When I see it appear
I feel a little warmer
When the frost sticks to the windows
I see your number again
The countdown to zero
Crouching in the shuttle
The head pressed in the vice
The sky burns and you with it
The trail leaves its mark
Behind there machine that returns
You need a lot of space
To find your way back
And I begin the descent
The cockpit in the gorge
And the plate incandescent
The atmosphere in the front row
But know that
Under his helmet
Yuri smiles
Eye frozen on frame
A comet in an area
In orbit in your face
Pupil in place while swimming

KORREKTUREN ÃœBERMITTELN