A series of personal words, a private song
|
I write on the piano, with a gray pen
|
A law of regular sense, like a strong army
|
Standing behind you here, in this vague gray
|
Nervous than ever, I'm so upset these days
|
I split my soul this time, to weave a new one
|
The creative mind does not read the truth with taste
|
It fluctuates and in me, everything is the color of madness
|
In my own style, this time, I will be insured in the song
|
With the same personal words, which do not have romance
|
More emotional than ever, you became independent of me
|
Batu, the soul of the last slanderer, died in my body
|
I got a new ID for myself
|
An identity card that my heart has to get used to little by little
|
I do not care anymore, when and where the story is
|
Who is not invited, then in this song
|
Another or a bell, or not a Roman
|
I'm tired of this balance, this general balance
|
In my own style, this time, I will be insured in the song
|
With the same personal words, which do not have romance
|
I sat for a lifetime, in the air of a sign
|
With a handful of thoughts that seem to be two thousand years old
|
A sign or an address, not to you
|
The mountain of memories will break with you at once
|
The tragedy is so deep, the heart is not under control
|
I no longer have a name, you call me an anarchist
|
I say this because, perhaps, the pain of being away becomes more normal
|
This private song will become a little more public
|
In my own style, this time, I will be insured in the song
|
With the same personal words, which do not have romance
|
By Rezzz |