Sometimes we think, that everything's OK,
Sometimes we love, but building own way,
Sometimes we cry, and noone to forgive -
In hope we trust, but could we just believe?
Oh no, it's fake. We need "my own goal" -
To live, to die. And winning our roups.
We love to care, and noone cares. So why -
We play so much. And living just to die.
In case... You know, what should it be the best
In way you like: the work without rest?
The love without hope? The miracle with pain?
So why if you love snow, you ask for massive rain?