Максим Шеркунов - Одиночество - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Loneliness! You go along the street, people walk past you, they tell you something, you answer them something ... But for them you are someone else's. And they are strangers for you. Your inner world does not accept them. You do not understand their words. And you do not care if they understand you. All your answers, questions mean nothing. Just words. You have nothing to say to these people.

Loneliness! Relatives ask you: what's wrong with you? How do you? And you answer: everything is in order. You understand that they want to help, they can help, but ... you do not accept this help. The walls that you once built around you have to defend yourself from the outside world protect you too well. You just forgot to make the door.

Loneliness! You want to bury your pillow and burst out. But you cannot. You are a man. And I must hold the brand. Even in front of oneself. Therefore, you lie silently and look at the ceiling. And you think how best to cut your veins. And where.

Loneliness! You disappear in the virtual world. Trying to get away from reality. You play computer games. You sit on the Internet. The pain goes away for several hours. And then, at night, returns. And avenging. You want to scream, but you can’t. You are not alone in the apartment.

Loneliness! You dream of meeting your only one. Mentally marry her, she gives birth to your children. You have a house, a car, and in general, you never deny yourself anything. And then you remember that you, or rather your body, does not look very beautiful. Therefore, no one will look into your strip. After all, they meet on clothes. You are doomed to loneliness.

Loneliness! You could earn a lot of money, make discoveries, go around the whole world ... But you do not need it. You live today, and what will happen tomorrow, you do not care. You have long been a robot. You chopped your soul with cold. You ignore your heart. And simply, gritting your teeth, torture the torture of loneliness.

Loneliness! You are trying to write poetry. Fucking poems, to be honest. But you don't care. You spread them in tons on the forums, read reviews, correct something. And if they suddenly said that this verse is cool, you are surprised how this squalor was generally called a verse. Maybe you really could become a good poet, writer, but ... why?