Only several days before we met, I had killed myself several times
Each one for a sin on my soul, repentant death of the ego
And the trees on my grave were hung in joyous apathy
You were neither man nor woman, yet a person all the same
and your hair was smiling
The objective Slavic King was foreboding but intrigued
and you pained to be affectionate
I feigned the aptitude to appease the master
While you danced around the wizard in robes
but the children had no faces
The spectrum gave way to the memories of childhood despair
The dying chair and the wooden man that beat against dun windows
Mossy branches were groping hands that felt the insecurities
and I lay bare in mourning winter air
Still those whistles sing for fallen queens that litter stray beds
The misguided steed in the blacksmith's den, asking for another fix
and the inanimate table that miraculously walked away
They were all there in my vivid nightmare
But you were safe in the rubber box built by nimble giants
and your mother cried alkaline tears
It was cursed pain that you felt
But the horses of your marriage fled for the fields
and you were left there in Novosibirsk
With a silver coin pressed to your chest
And I, lay lonesome in Saratov
'neath the blackening skies
On a wall in Kryty Square
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
Only several days before we met, I had killed myself several times
Each one for a sin on my soul, repentant death of the ego
And the trees on my grave were hung in joyous apathy
You were neither man nor woman, yet a person all the same
and your hair was smiling
The objective Slavic King was foreboding but intrigued
and you pained to be affectionate
I feigned the aptitude to appease the master
While you danced around the wizard in robes
but the children had no faces
The spectrum gave way to the memories of childhood despair
The dying chair and the wooden man that beat against dun windows
Mossy branches were groping hands that felt the insecurities
and I lay bare in mourning winter air
Still those whistles sing for fallen queens that litter stray beds
The misguided steed in the blacksmith's den, asking for another fix
and the inanimate table that miraculously walked away
They were all there in my vivid nightmare
But you were safe in the rubber box built by nimble giants
and your mother cried alkaline tears
It was cursed pain that you felt
But the horses of your marriage fled for the fields
and you were left there in Novosibirsk
With a silver coin pressed to your chest
And I, lay lonesome in Saratov
'neath the blackening skies
On a wall in Kryty Square
Ваш серое платье пели гимны из греховной патриотов
