| Looks like I'm so tired
|
| What today could easily
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| Take a gun and wait for the collapse in the subway
|
| Look, under the vault of the skull
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| It's written somewhere
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| About creative failure and failures with the reorganization of oneself
|
| I'm so tired of being crowded with a bunch of personalities in a cramped brain
|
| And every phrase is either kitsch or complexes in plain sight
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| And I'm late for the show,
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| And suddenly no one even called me,
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| And I so stupidly appeared and am silent
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| And I feel like a god
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| First I turn the wine into blood
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| At movie nights, in the mornings
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| Vomiting a verse into the sink
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| I'm going to the doctors
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| On a familiar path
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| And I am like a guru and Christ
|
| Only I turn water into a sea of tears
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| I throw up a verse in the sink
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| I'd rather go to the doctors,
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| But I open a secret chat,
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| So soon the pain will subside
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| You are different at first glance
|
| You leave in the dark, you go back in the light
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| Your diet is
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| For breakfast, two poems by favorite authors
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| And a cigarette with coffee, black
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| no sugar
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| You raise your hand in surprise, but don't come near me
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| After all, I'm in love, and I have a wick sticking out of my head
|
| Instead of a Bickford cord - a verse, I will crumble into confetti
|
| And you will dance in it
|
| Under the motive familiar to you!
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| Listen!
|
| And I feel like a god
|
| Only I turn wine into blood
|
| I promised you not to drink and behave well,
|
| But the beginning, conflict, dramaturgy and narrative hold
|
| sorry
|
| And I am like a guru and Christ
|
| Only I turn water into a sea of tears
|
| I throw up a verse in the sink
|
| I would be fine with doctors
|
| They're screaming in my head again
|
| But soon it will definitely be quiet |