Вера Полозкова - Боль - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

My friend paints scarry in public with scars, teaches their skill of voluntary pain. He asks to respect her essence, trust, not be stubborn, not to drown her in a joke, in a panic, in alcohol. He teaches it as a science, language and sacrament, he is familiar with all its laws and features. And bloody wounds under his fingers are braided with marvelous patterns, signs and flowers.

I live with Ashram, I study the world, sobriety, monotony, idleness, discipline. The mind must be educated evenly, like the incision along the trembling and naked human clay. I want to be able to take my pain without horror, watch it as one of the processes in the body. I hope that one day I will get the courage to refuse her her vastness, power, and goals.

Because everything is poured with pain, and rather terrible - from it there is neither a poem, nor a flight, nor a voodoo doll; No matter how much I go, I don’t clench her in any way, no matter how roar I will not let her out. In addition to pain, there is no other experience, everything is given to it, it demands to obey. And so I get up at dawn without a murmur, I serve and pray, I am a diligent student.

Cut the bird on me, a silver pen, from the birthday of the right, not afraid of either a storm, no hunger, or a collapse. Cut off and pour the most burning with your stratification, so that she will eat deeper, heal more heavily. May she be, Lord, to me a reward, let her always lurk in her. Let it be from the cold hell, where I am falling, a minute to the darkness, she carried me out.