Срать, что не очень грамотно

It was winter, it was really cold

Wind blows outside, but here was fine.

Here was girl, she was waiteen years old,

Her face was so sad. Her face was so mine.

She lived in loneliness, madness and hope.

To waiting for something was her peculiar dope.

Beauty and success, passion and rage…

She was waiteen-years age