Franz-Hanke - L.Sid-за гранью - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Beyond.

There, in the scorched wasteland, there is a line drawn, a mesh with barbed wire, between the past and the present, between a mistake and the right choice. Sometimes they come to the point of the last meeting. Two silhouettes against the backdrop of scorched earth and crimson clouds - this is how they see each other’s worlds through the bars, knowing that behind them is a better world. They peer beyond the edge for a long time, they can even touch the warmth of that body that will never be there again. And everyone thinks that the other one chose the wrong people and the wrong books, the wrong road and the wrong landmarks. And everything would be much simpler if these two were not once part of a single, whole, complete, but now, separated by the border of No return, speaking different languages, they are already independent, not needing to interact with each other’s systems of values and coordinates This border that can never be broken is both the price for the choice and its justification: through it you can see where you definitely would not have gone in your time. One day, she suddenly grew behind her, cutting off those who were so dear and significant, she became a boundary that divided the world into “before” and “after.” It is unknown what hurts more: the fact that it is no longer possible to help those who are left behind, or the fact that you did not have time to bring them along with you. You can forget a lot, almost everything. But it is impossible to forget Their Eyes, it is impossible to break the border alone, it is impossible to go back. After all, there is a constant conviction that there is only scorched earth and ghosts of the past. But the funny thing is that the side you are on now is perceived the same way from the Other Side. This line is woven from an unbreakable wire of once spoken (or unspoken) words, actions and thoughts. There is only wasteland, decay and decay. And the direction chosen now is the only correct one of all possible. Having turned away, forgotten about the new, it is again necessary to continue the journey further, so that one day, stopping for the night in the middle of the vast deserted desert of one’s Own Perception of the World, one hears in an alarming dream someone’s half-forgotten voice from the Other Side: “you know, flowers grow here too.” ..