[Anyme]

Именно этим я занимался, когда пришёл домой, то есть просто хотелось написать... ну, или дописать.

не знаю, почему всегда получается грустно...

И мама вот тоже не знает.



I don’t want a thing to use,

I don’t want a thing to call it mine.

I’m always utterly confused

When staying eye to eye with phone lies.



Ashes to ashes and keep it to yourself,

You dial it, and you are given it

And if you want to feel it very well,

Just throw out everything that fits.



Distorted at the point of the truth

And humble to repeat in once again

You put it off and now we’re through

You have your own rain, I have my own rain.



And now if you want it very sharp

If you are sick of imitator tricks

Just dial it and don’t go far

Present yourself as strange, describe my self as weak.



***



Why does it happen?

Why does it always happen like that,

I’m never let reach the bottom.

Let’s take it in terms of a woman - a man,

Let’s taken it in terms of a heartslaughter.



Access denied

Access is always denied when I am only a step away

From loosing my faith in whatever I have it in

What if I am another lie

In the steamship harmony of the harlequins?



I’m off

Because I’m too choosing, too picking

In whom to distract and whom to dismay.

Another god in himself

I’m reaching for love in the ignorance bay.



Why does it happen,

That I’m always given the way out, the sign

And never let search on my own,

Am I too lucky to see,

Or am I too humble to be so utterly slow?