S.T.A.L.K.E.R. S.T.A.L.K.E.R. Car headlights are too impromptu And it's rare to meet And to part I don't know if this city loves me But Crimea Hides the secrets of the night fog The machines are dead in it, the engines are dead The industry Touches, kisses, gives Their novels Heels and zip ties, lightning Rhythms and songs, hands and shoulders A living sculpture of lonely horses The boats of the ships Drunk from coming home Sailors break into their dreams in the windows The naked women Exhausted by their armor Three in blue I don't know if this city loves me But Crimea Hides the secrets of the night fog The machines are dead in it, the engines are dead The industry Touches, kisses, gives Their novels S.T.A.L.K.E.R. I don't know if this city loves me But Crimea Hides the secrets of the night fog The machines are dead in it, the engines are dead The industry Touches, kisses, gives Their novels S.T.A.L.K.E.R.