The Private and Intimate Life of the House

I've aged I've aged so very much I fall asleep at the table My napkin drops to the floor I'm full of childish vanities I forget things And I live in the past I've aged so very much People enjoy me though I come in for tea in my old-fashioned coat and powdered wig And I tell stories and utter scathing critiques This stern, shrewd old man A relic of the past century with his gentle daughter Such a majestic and agreeable spectacle But besides the couple of hours during which we have guests There are also 22 hours in the day During which the private and intimate life of the house continues Bring my me slippers (yes father, yes father) Bring me my wine (yes father, yes father) If you're not too busy fiddling with your incense and icons (no father, no father) And I have no friends, no, never go anywhere Never invited for who would take care of him I can hurt you, I can hurt you But I never ever, ever, ever would No, father, I love you, father And time moves on and my fate slips past And nothing ever happens to me And Countess Natalya Rostova is coming for tea I know they'll like me Everyone has always liked me Natasha is young and worthless and dumb And time moves on And my fate slips past Is this all I'll make of my life? Will I never be happy? Will I never be anyone's wife? Ah, what's this? A young suitor? Ah, come in, come in But don't sit down, don't sit down I'm cold to you, yes, I'm mean to you Now be gone, be gone, be gone and don't come back! Maybe I'll marry someone myself Some cheap French thing Oh, that offends you, does it? Ah, come in my dear Come in my dear, come in And he draws her to him And he kisses her hand Embraces her affectionately And I flush and run out of the room Come back here Let an old man have his fun But she's just using you papa Wants your money, papa! To take advantage of your weakness like that It's disgusting, my voice breaks It's my money, and I'll throw it where I want, not at you! And not at Andrey's harlot! Insolent girl! Insolent girl! Where? Where? Where are my glasses? Where are they? Where are my glasses? Oh, God Oh, God, I'm frightened Oh, God, I've aged so very much Where are my glasses? Where are my glasses? Where are my glasses? They are there upon his head The pride of sacrifice gathers in my soul And he forgets things He falls asleep at the table His napkin drops to the floor His shaking head sinks over his plate He is old and feeble And I dare to judge him I disgust myself I disgust myself