Ванадис - Симфония боли. Покинутый рай - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Symphony of pain. Abandoned paradise

….Will you cry when I leave?..

…...If I want, I will hurt you...

….....I will bring you to tears...

…......Next time you will die...

***

She stood on the top of a hill in the pouring rain. In the distance, the lights of the city were extinguishing in the windows, and behind them, the reluctantly smoldering coals of the burnt bridge were met with a furious hiss of heavenly tears. And this mixture of ozone and burning made it unbearable to breathe. And I didn’t really want to. The battle is lost. You can't change anything. On the other side of the bridge there remains a perverted paradise filled with flowers and monsters, where She will never return.

“Are you going to cry when I leave?”

She remembered how this deadly strange question from someone who seemed close to her echoed in her soul like a spring shower. Closer than it should have been. Because he wasn't like that. Anyone who is worth intimacy will never want anyone to cry because of him. Then she laughed it off. And then, of course, she burst into tears from unbearable sudden pain. Melted in the morning fog, poisoning the dawn for a long time. She would understand then, but...

“If I want, I will hurt you very much.”

"You can't."

“Keep thinking like that.”

And at that moment it was necessary to blow up this monstrous paradise. Take the challenge. Give battle. Turn the one who initiated the fight to face himself. A simple mirror, showing with all the mercilessness the grin of a blackening soul. But... For some reason I didn’t want to fight. Everything is a joke, everything is make-believe. This way it was possible to preserve that amazingly beautiful, albeit toxic, intimacy. It seemed to her that the poison would dissolve. It will pass. I failed.

"I'll make you cry if I want."

“You won’t get it.”

And on fiery scarlet wings they rushed around, slashing at their souls, with questions: why do you need it?! Why the hell is it so important to you to know that your words can hurt?! And again everything turned into a joke. In this caricatured paradise, de jure, everything was not serious.

Here's the de facto:

“Next time you will die!”

And invisible sticky amber resin filled the body. She hindered her movements. Neither take off, nor run, nor breathe. Only he had enough strength to cross the bridge that led from a paradise made of fragments of almost childhood dreams, in which incomprehensible filth freely took root, to purgatory.

Cold rain makes tar, exposing the soul. Behind him, the connecting bridge flickered with a ruby-greedy light. And behind him, her perverted paradise grinned.

“How easily he broke you,” her longtime friend came from the other side of the hill, as if answering a call.

- No need...

She buried her nose in her wind-worn jacket, inhaling the familiar smell of coffee, cigars and pine forests. She ran her fingers through her hard silver hair, like moonlight, and gradually warmed up. She tried to say something, but was choked by her own crying. A friend stroked her poor head, managing in the flow of emotions and sobs to catch the essence of what was happening, which so easily eluded Her.

– Don’t explain anything to anyone. I'm just nearby. And there is no need to go back. Only forward.

The bridge behind them exploded with fireworks.

***

Sometimes She returns to that hill, looks at the skeleton of the bridge. Distinguishes in the fog and snow the outlines of an abandoned monstrous paradise. And the wind brings words that have already lost their power:

“Are you going to cry when I leave?”

"Will".

"I'll hurt you if I want to."

"You did"

"I can make you cry."

"You did it".

"Next time you will die."

“It didn’t work out, I died earlier.”

“So I won?”

"Won. But you will never know about this."