Раз-два-три, ветер изменится - Глава 5 отрывок 2 - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

I look at myself in the mirror, and my skewed, blue face, smeared in dark ocher, is more like the face of a person who died a few weeks ago. Otherwise, how then to explain that from the hole in my cheek, small beads of pearl larvae are shown, which, swarming in my mouth, are spraying inadvertently to the floor? How then to explain that my swollen black lips are trying to pronounce something, but the mucus that oozes from the wound in the cheek is mixed with words and flows inside the trachea? How to explain that fatty whitish tears that remain on my face with long sloping stripes drip from my red festering eyes? How to explain that my mowed nose leaks with brown stains that smear the shirt?

I guess I panic. Probably, seeing this guy who, holding out a dirty hand to me, tries to get me by the shoulders, I am not delighted and the joy of the long -awaited meeting. I feel fear.

I pull the crane: spray falls on my feet; I stuff the soap inside my mouth and, sticking it almost in the throat, chew the bar. Soap with the smell of daffodils taste like shit, but at least it removes the taste of rotten flesh, the taste of hysteria, which I am about to fall: I just need to chew, perform elementary actions with a jaw. Pink foam with flakes falls from my mouth, and I, lowering my hands into the water, tearing my skin with force.

I have very dirty palms, have you noticed? Stone dirt, crimson strips of skin under my nails - I need to urgently wash, I urgently need to put my hands under the icy water.

Because it seems to me that with these hands I killed a young man who decided to visit me today. It seems to me that it was with these palms that I climbed inside his abdomen and, passing through my fingers still warm organs, stroked him from the inside.

It seems to me that it was these fingers, smeared in feces and blood, I put it inside my mouth and, throwing my head from pleasure, slowly jerked off.

And this is not so far from the truth.

I am choking because I try to swallow the scraps of the soap and push the porridge of saliva into my throat, and also partially from the fact that I really want to howl with horror, and I cannot afford it. The feeling of deepest remorse and guilt strangles me: they needed my help, but what am I? I came home yesterday and devoted a little time to masturbation.

Yes, I was jerking off, because I imagined how painful it was, how humiliatingly helplessly they floundered in their own shit, how they shouted and sobbed from the fact that they wanted to die as soon as possible and stop suffering.

Oh yes, I felt omnipotent. I felt that I was doing the right thing, killing them.

I heard the voice of Lecter, who told me: “A good boy,” and jerked off.