Imagine: late at night life simply vanished from the streets,
No buses and no hospitals, no light,
No trains that choo, no malls and no more traffic jam at six,
And only stars keep shining from the sky.
They're looking down in shock; they see a trembling sign of life:
The only window with the lamp turned on.
The boy inside is taking meds, his fever's getting wild,
And then he's texting with his broken phone:
Thirty-seven-five, I'm all alone at home and weep.
Should I go on living? Should I strive?
If don't reply, if there's no messages from me,
Blame it on my thirty-seven-five.
Imagine: there's no spaceship seen in movies many times,
The final frontier won't be ever reached,
And everything that's here is just some people left alive
And lonely window with the light that's switched.
The boy is taking meds again with fever giving chills;
He wants to send his message one more time.
He'll cure the symptoms and will never know the real thing
Behind his painful thirty-seven-five.
Thirty-seven-five, I'm all alone at home and weep.
Should I go on living? Should I strive?
If don't reply, if there's no messages from me,
Blame it on my thirty-seven-five.
Imagine: late at night the winter came o't of the blue,
No migraine in the morning - that seems cool.
Just take those thirty seven, then add five, get forty two,
And this will show the sad and striking truth
Of where the boy has gone and why his lonely window now
Has no light on and where to find his smile.
I'm taking my thermometer to check if I feel fine:
It says I'm feeling thirty-seven-five.
Imagine: late at night life simply vanished from the streets,
No buses and no hospitals, no light,
No trains that choo, no malls and no more traffic jam at six,
And only stars keep shining from the sky.
Only stars keep crying in the sky...
оригинал: Дмитрий "Ди" Курцман // Маркус Кримбл - 37.5