My unfinished book of love
Had been put in the frame and gilded.
There is my distributed stuff –
Your remains, letters, and unwritten.
But when will I stop feeling the shiver
Of seeing your face at the fresh pictures,
And beeing so sure, that I can not leave it,
‘cause my mistakes are not the good teacher.
I pray –
The sping’s gonna say,
What’s gonna happen.
I’m afraid,
Even my may
Will lie then.
Whatever you go – you’re meeting the wind,
That is telling you, what this place is.
And those, who live outside the ring,
Their dreamt is finding the love on Nevskiy.
But here’s the Tallin outside my door,
City – cake with the sigh of darkness.
The tale, where I don’t care anymore,
Who did you or who did I fuck with.
I pray...
Nights with no dream...
I’m tired.
Right there,
In heaven of spring...
Stone’s sharpness.
I’m afraid,
Even the spring will lie...
It’s lying, It’s lying,
I drank,
The scotch was not chilled...
No ice...
They’ll catch me, they’ll catch me.